Icarus
by outlook96
Summary: Miraculously, Florence and her friends have made it out of the maze; only now they are aware of the unforgivable secrets she was protecting them from. Her friends, believing she's dead, continue with Phase Two, while she is tested on at WCKD's headquarters. On top of all that, she can't help but miss the boy who has the unfortunate status of a crank.(Doesn't completely follow book)
1. Expirements

**Disclaimer: Everyhting belongs to James Dashner. Except Florence.**

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 **EDIT: IMPORTANT: Before you start reading be aware that I've taken my own path to elongate the story and experiment with writing. This fanfiction will follow The Scorch Trials trailer for the second movie, so if you haven't watched it go do so. It will match up with the book later on in the fic, but for now it's following the trailer so hopefully it can make things more exciting and not just have a character follow the same plot line of the book.**

 **Enjoy.**

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Finding out your boyfriend –well we hadn't really defined our relationship yet— was doomed to die no matter what due to a fatal virus that attacks the brain called the Flare is not always a good start to the week. Finding out you yourself is doomed to die no matter what due to a fatal virus that attacks the brain is an even worse start. Finding out the only reason you haven't gone psychotic is because of an expensive drug called 'the Bliss' which slows down the growth of the Flare and suppresses psychotic tendencies is the cherry on top of all this.

I was being held prisoner inside of a government official organization created to cure the Flare which, evidently, I had.

Being stuck in this claustrophobic, prison-type, room made me feel like a criminal. When a loud buzz emitted from the door, and I heard it unlock, my had perked up to it. I stretched my limbs as I leapt of the bed, groaning as I did so. It had only been two days since I last saw my friends. But it felt like it had been two years.

"Where's Janson?" I asked as I exited my room, passing by a worker in a lab coat.

"He's busy with the subjects, administering phase two. Should be back by tonight."

I nodded, continuing my journey.

"Oh, hey, Florence," I pivoted in the long hallway, turning to his voice. "Alistair's looking for you."

"Alright," I nodded, continuing my departure.

The glass door slid open for me and I entered the Hive. I didn't feel as superior as I did before I entered the maze. In fact, I felt like a small mouse. Everyone eyed me as I strolled around the center of the room and out another door. No sign of Alistair here.

No doubt he would be downstairs, probably in the crank ward, operating like he always was. I sauntered towards the elevator and pressed the correct button. It was silent the whole 5-second ride down, and when I reached my destination, I stepped out. This part of WICKED always gave me the chills. I never set foot past the elevator, and now I was stepping down here, observing the cranks that were held in cages like some sort of monster.

It occurred to me, seconds later, that these were once humans. These were people who had families and friends and pets, and homes. They were people who were spiraling towards their slow and gruesome death. People who were going to be experimented on until they had no life in them left. That thought was scarier than the open wounds and puss dripping from their face, as well as their daunting howls as they scratched the glass doors in an attempt to rip my brains out.

I was one of them. I had the same virus, eating me alive, just as they did. Only they weren't blessed with the same drug that I was to postpone the mentally disordered state of mine.

I sighed, my eyes glued to the floor as I strived to disregard their screams and slashes. I turned down a few hallways, having absolutely no idea where I was headed, until a voice called out to me.

"Florence," Someone hollered, "Down here!" I turned around, gulping as I passed another crank, looking to just have passed the point of Gone, and lured myself towards the voice. 'The Gone' was what we called cranks who had entered the stage of no return. They were basically walking corpses at that point. Eating their own flesh, or others, was a popular activity at that stage.

I entered an open doorway and observed Alistair in his natural habitat. He poked and prodded inside the brain of an appearingly dead crank, and swivilied in his chair to face me.

I gagged at the sight and turned away.

"Oh," He apologized, "Sorry. I'll get this cleaned up. I'm done anyways."

I plugged my nostrils from the rancid smell.

"Carter, Lloyd, wheel this one out. I'm done."

There was a scuffle of footsteps and then I hear the squeaky oil-deprived wheels of the gurney pass me. Alistair smacked his gloves off, tossing them in the bin beside me, and removed his mask. I turned towards him hesitantly as I dropped my hand from my nose.

"Just he person I wanted to see," He smirked smugly.

"I heard," I sighed, moving towards him.

He nodded, placing his hands on his hips. "Right, well, let's get started."

"Get started with what?" I cocked my head slightly.

"Just some tests. Janson's order. A few blood samples, skin swabs, and more." His smile faded as he stood up from his chair.

"Is that really necessary?" I grimaced, rubbing my forearm.

"Immensely, yes." He nodded. "Unfortunately you're cursed with this deadly virus, which I'm sure you read in your file; so just a few tests are required to see how far you've gone and how The Bliss is affecting you. None of the other cranks have had the Bliss injected in them. It's expensive to make and hard to retrieve the resources, therefore you're the only person we can test on."

I frowned.

"Which reminds me, you need another dose; once a week in the neck." He moved towards a table with all sorts of instruments and medical supplies on it.

"How'd I survive without it in the maze then?" I challenged

"Well we injected some when we fixed your leg. But back then you weren't in need of the drug that often. Only every few months, which we injected in you while you were sleeping. The process of the virus is speeding, so you need it in your system more often."

"That's unfortunate…" I sighed under my breath as I turned away from him. I had trouble feeling emotions now. I compartmentalized them so I wouldn't feel a thing. The night I came back to WICKED was one of the most dominant and vanquishing nights of my life. That I remember, anyway.

"I'll take you to another room." He smirked as he picked up a large needle and placed a hand on my back, "One that doesn't smell of a dead Crank."

I shot him an unrelenting stare as we exited the room. "You're speaking about them like they're not human beings."

"They're not," He countered with a small shrug, hand still warm on my back.

"They were."

"Not anymore. Do you know any human beings that eat other human beings?" He challenged while gimlet-eyed.

"That's called cannibalism." I replied sarcastically. " **Humans** , eating **Humans**."

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes, "They're all basically dead anyways. Just walking corpses."

I stopped as soon as we entered another door, and he pivoted to turn around to me in confusion. My face went crimson with fury. "Excuse me? I'm one of those 'walking corpses'" I finger quoted. "The only difference is you need me."

"Ugh," His eyes rolled skyward, "You know I don't mean that. You're not a freakin' zombie. Stop taking things to heart so easily. That's how you get chewed up in a world like this."

I wanted to retaliate, trust me, I did, but I decided to desert the ensuing fight and just take a seat on the operating gurney.

"Lean back," He ordered, slipping the gloves on.

I did as he said and pressed my head against the hard, lumpy pillow. The bed was angled up, but the way my body laid made me uncomfortable, like he was going to operate on me too. He pressed a cold, damp sheet of paper towel to my skin and starting wiping, sanitizing the area.

"This is going to sting, just a tad."

I winced, crinkling my eyes and turning away from him. I gasped sharply as I felt the spine of the needle enter the side of my neck, and relaxed once I felt the serum enter my body.

"Nice," he commented. "Whatd'ya say, same time next week?"

I rolled my eyes, again, at his insensitive question.

He moved back to his rolling table filled with medical instruments and fiddled around for a while.

"How is Newt going to survive without the Bliss?" I asked.

"Chances are; he hasn't caught it yet. He will in the Scorch, though; guaranteed. There are hundreds of those suckers crawling around."

I shivered, "But you said the other day that he wasn't immune."

"Yes," He lifted a finger, "But that doesn't mean he's a Crank yet."

My eyes narrowed into crinkled slits. He didn't care. He was immune. Almost everyone at WICKED was immune. They had the get out of jail free card, and we, the cranks, were stuck circling the board.

"Alright," Janson walked over, disrupting my train of thought. "This is just a little skin test. I'm going to do a few. There might be mild bleeding, but that's it."

"I had most of my leg ripped off; I think I can handle a little bleeding." I gleamed.

He snorted, "Right." He ambled towards me and sat in the chair. He took small shaving tool and chiseled small pieces of dead flesh into a cup.

Afterwards, he grabbed another needle and squirted a substance in the air. He smiled then gave me a disgustingly subtle wink as he injected another substance into me. It was in my forearm, this time. Just below my shaved skin. My eye twitched as I felt the serum enter me.

"I'll leave that there and see how it reacts; should only take a day. Tomorrow we'll do some more skin tests." He televised for me. "Now I'm just going to take a blood sample, then a simple brain test, and we'll be done."

"Woah, huh? Brain test?"

"Yeah," He nodded, acting as if I was stupid for not knowing. "Just a simple neurological experiment to see how you react in certain situations. It's simple, don't worry."

I frowned. "I'm not very keen on participating in that…"

"Well you're going to," He shut down as he fiddled with, yet, another needle. "Janson's orders. He'll have a freakin' fit if I don't do it. God knows what he'll do to you."

I bit my lip. Janson was the enemy, yet I had to work on the same team as him.

Hell, I was going to die anyways, might as well let them experiment for the sake of mankind. I ran a hand through my hair and leaned back in the chair.

When I heard Janson put the needle down, I jolted up, my eyes narrowing in on him in perplexity.

He rolled away from my question, and grabbed a tiny, cylindrical tube. Around the same size as my finger. While also grabbing that, he rolled over what loked like an IV bag hanging on a pole. It took me a few seconds to realize that the bag was empty. All the tubes that hung from it had small needles at the end. That bag was going to be filled with my blood in a few minutes.

"I thought you just needed a small blood test?" I cowered back in the chair.

"Uh uh uh!" He shook his head from side to side, "I never said small." He waved his hand in front of me, signaling for me to give him my hand. I obliged and gave my shaking hand to him, placing my palm in his. "This is just an iron test. It's a completed blood count which checks your hemoglobin and hematocrit levels."

"I have no idea what your say—OW!" I winced as he pressed the small cylinder from earlier on my index finger. It pricked the padded tip of my finger. He tried to hide his crooked smile as he dropped the cylindrical instrument on the table and grabbed a small cotton ball to clean the remaining blood that dripped out of the pinprick.

Unanticipatedly, he fused one of the large needles attached to the tubes that hung from the empty blood bag.

"Uh!" I recoiled, "Do you ever warn people before you do this? Is not warning people your thing?"

"Well," he shrugged off, "Most of the patients I do this on are strapped to the bed in a five point restraint."

That shut me up.

"While the blood's flowing I'll connect you for the neurological test." He announced, walking out of the room. The room was eerily silent for a while, afar from the pining screams coming from the hallways that contained Cranks.

He took a few minutes to return. When he did, I understood why. There was a big machine behind him, rolling on a small square pad. It was large, difficult for one person to carry. There was wires coming from it, and at the end of the wires were small pads that would connect to my skin on my head.

I gulped as he placed the machine beside me, sending me another cocky wink. Winking was his signature move. He had a point of doing it at inappropriate times, too.

He moved around me, placing the small pads at desired point on my face.

There were two on each temple, two on my neck, one on the nape of my neck, and one in the center of my forehead, a little higher than the one on my temples. I felt like I had just been abducted and I was being brainwashed by extraterrestrial aliens.

"Now the machine's going to administer a small shock. It's just a little jolt. It'll paralyze you for a few seconds and put you to sleep. When you wake up it'll be a hallucination. The machine records your delusions for further study later. It helps us learn how the virus grows. The moves you make, the choices you choose, might forcibly happen. You may not be able to control your body. Good luck."

"Wai—" Just as I was about to object, I felt the shock. My body went still, and my eyelids leisurely fluttered to a close. The last thing I saw was the memorable cynical smile of Alistair above me.

 _I felt like I was under the influence of drugs. Well, for all I knew, I was. My vision gyrated and swerved like a wave. My brain tried to form a scene in front of me. It loaded like pixels. Finally, it formed an environment. I was in the Glade._

 _It warmed my heart to be back to the closest place I'd ever called home. Only, something was different. There was no sky above me, only a dull gray cover. All the doors were open, but the grievers seemed to be silent. No livestock sounded in the distance, none of the crops were healthy and grown. Everything was dead._

 _I looked over to the Bloodhouse to see a pile of animals form in a heap of mud, all deceased. A swarm of flies buzzed around them, eating away at their decaying bodies._

 _Where was everyone?_

 _"Hello?" I rotated my body to analyze the glade._

 _Smoke. I saw smoke. Smoke was coming from the Homestead, floating up in the air like a black demon. It dissipated as it got higher to the grey ceiling above us. It was coming from the small chimney Gally had installed. I walked over to it in a daze, spinning around every so often to look for life._

 _Once I got closer, I shifted to a jog. I fell clumsily against the door as I opened it, and I staggered into the room._

 _I gasped when I heard a sickly crunch under my feet, and fell back against the closed door. It was dark. Too dim. Unrealistically shadowy; it was still light outside._

 _I kept my back close to the wall, knowing eventually I'd bump into the small table in the living room that had a lantern and matched on it._

 _I let out an "Ow" when my bad leg collided with the desk. My hands felt around for the box of matches. One the box came into contact with my fingers; I pulled out a match and slid it across the side of the box. Still to dim to see anything, I lit the lantern on the table. I tossed the dead match aside, and lifted the lantern in front of me._

 _I shrieked when I saw a pale face in front of me. It was unrecognizable. A female. Her red hair fell in thin clusters, and her lips pulled back in a snarl as she let out a loud, inhuman bark. Phlegm bubbled from her mouth as she continued to growl and bark, like a dog. Black veins meandered across her face, and the state of her skin was repulsive. So dehydrated, so burnt. Her eyes were two large black abyss' and her teeth were rotten and filled with holes. She appeared to be around the same age as me, but it was hard to tell with her leathery skin. This was the farthest Crank I've seen yet._

 _"We're all gonna die…" She growled, "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE?"_

 _I whimpered as I recoiled from her, covering my mouth with my hand._

 _"Everyone of us… WE'RE ALL DEAD." She grabbed both of my forearms and started to violently shake me. "ALL DEAD ALL DEAD ALL DEAD," She chanted like some sick ritual. Her spit found home on my face. I tried to push her away, but it was difficult considering I was cornered. She whacked my arm, causing me to drop the lantern._

 _"No!" MY voice cracked when the lantern crashed against the floor. The homestead immediately took aflame as the girl let me go._

 _"WE'RE ALL DEAD," She screamed one last time before darting out the front door._

 _"No no no!" I screamed to myself as I tried to put out the fire with a blanket. It kept growing and growing, too fast to save._

 _"YOU DID THIS," I knew that voice. I spun around to see the face of all my friends. All of them, even the deceased. They all wore faces that showed their true anger towards me. Blood trickled from their noses, veins snaked over their skin. Their pupils grew bigger, and patches of raw flesh appeared out of nowhere._

 _Minho shook his head at me, while Thomas' gaze dropped to the floor, unable to look at me._

 _"What?" I could feel the tears form "I-I'm sorry… What?"_

 _Newt stepped forward, blood pouring from every open hole like a waterfall. I could hardly hear him over the gurgling of blood. "YOU BLOODY DID THIS."_

 _One by one, they started to drop like flies. Chuck was first, then Gally. Fry, Thomas, Teresa, Aris, Veer, Jeff, Clint, Alby. They all dropped, falling to the floor like a pile of dominos. None of them were phased by the death of the others. They all just stared at me with looks of anguish and disgust._

 _"No no no…" I tried to help them, but they all just died in my arms._

 _The eyes of the living followed me like robots._

 _Another dropped, and another, and another, until finally, it was only Newt. Of course Newt was last._

 _"I'm sorry…" I whispered barely audible, as I cocked my head for an answer._

 _His lips twitched. His frown transformed into a smile; an extremely gummy, disgustingly bloody, smile. He started to laugh. It was so unlike him that I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. It was like a horror movie._

 _His eyes snapped shut, and he fell backwards into the pile of dead bodies._

 _In a natural reaction, I leaned over to the side and heaved up copious amounts of vomits. MY eeys cried from the lack of oxygen as I continued to spew everywhere._

 _The fountain of bile turned red, and I grew worried._

 _Moments later, I felt the warm liquid fall from my nose. Later, my ears, and then, my mouth. MY heart started to beat like a runaway train and I searched for something to remove from the same fate of my friends._

 _"WE'RE ALL DEAD," The girl whispered in my ear, right before fatigue came over me and I went spiraling towards the floor._

I gasped jaggedly and sat up in the gurney. The machine beside me beeped frantically as I ripped off the wires that were attached to my head. I was still overwhelmed with what I had just seen. I couldn't even breathe. MY breathing was rapped, and I was having a mild panic attack.

Someone handed me an inhaler, and I took it gladly; pressing two puffs into my mouth. It ook me a moment for my breathing to relax, and when it did, I did too, leaning back in the bed. MY body was detailed with sweat, and I felt the dry blood underneath my nose.

"What the hell?!" I turned over to Alistair his was sitting in a recliner, his hands behind his head, a far distance away from me. "What did you do?! What did I just see?"

"It wasn't real." He replied quietly, a coy smirk plastered across his lips.

"No shit, Sherlock." I growled, "But it felt real." I moved my hand to my nose, "And my nose is bleeding."

"That's…normal." he groaned as he stood up.

"Is it?" I asked, swinging my legs over the bed.

He scratched his head, "Eh." He leaned over to grab the remaining wire that was tapped to my neck. "Whatever. What's done is done."

"Well it's never going to be done again." I yelled at him.

He sighed, rolling his eyes nonchalantly. Did that mean it was going to happen again? If so, I wasn't letting it happen. It was so realistic, that I still had the taste of vomit lingering in my mouth.

He unhooked the needle that gathered my blood from my arm and put some sort of cap on the bag He placed a sticker on it and started labeling it with a permanent marker.

"Am I free to go?"

If I wasn't looking at him, I wouldn't have noticed the slight nod he gave me.

"Great." I leapt of the bed, but was held back by another wire. One that was on my forearm. I hadn't notice he'd placed one there. It must've been while I was unconscious.

I stomped out of the room, showing my frustration, and paced angrily towards the elevator. I bit my lip as I entered the elevator, the doors closing in front of me. When I re-entered the Hive, I turned to Hannah, one of the beetle blade workers I had previously worked with before the maze "Hey, Hannah, do you have the time?" I asked, analyzing the glade. It was unusually quiet and idle.

"9:30." She replied, looking from her work pad to me.

"PM?!" I asked, raising my voice.

"Yeah," She nodded, giving me an odd look as she returned to her workpad.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Oh my God." I gripped my scalp so tightly, that a few strands of hair fell out. I paced back and forth as I tried to understand the loss of time. Whatever machine that was just erased twelve hours of my day. But it hadn't seemed like twelve hours. Alistair was still there when I woke up; he had only just taken the needle out of my arm.

I blew out a large raspberry as I rubbed the nape of my neck.

"You okay?" An unrecognizable employee asked me as he passed.

"Yeah…" I drifted off as my eyes fell to the floor. "I'm fine. I think."

They really were experimenting on me, and they would continue to. I was their subject. I was their prognosis study. And what could I do? Absolutely nothing. I had to let them experiment and test on me. I would let them do anything, as long as that meant I would return to my friends. I would make a deal with Alistair and Janson.

Just as I was about to turn, I heard a door open.

It was a door that rarely opened, only to let people from outside in. Sand and dust swirled in like mini tornadoes in the cold night air, and a few people stepped forward, out of the dim abyss.

The door chimed before sliding shut again, locking itself tight. The visitors removed the scarves around their neck, and the hats off their heads. As well as the bundles of clothes that protected them from the scolding flares of the sun.

One of the members moved towards us and removed a pair of shaded goggles. "Greetings Florence," He turned to the others in the room, "Hannah, Micheal." He nodded at them. I recognized the man. He wasn't a doctor, he was one of the few people that exited WICKED's headquarters. His name was Linden.

"I've just returned from a survivor search. I found these few in the Scorch. They'll be our new test subjects."

They were Cranks. Of course they were. How would they agree to come with him though? Had he gave some heroic speech talking about how their help would save man kind? They shouldn't have believed it.

"Hanna, do you mind taking the two gentlemen here to the left wing? Florence, it would be helpful of you if you could show Rhea to her room. She will be residing two doors from yours."

I nodded at Linden. "Sure, no problem. I was headed there anyways." I would talk to Alistair tomorrow.

Linden moved aside to let Rhea stepped into view. When I saw her, I went rigid. It was the girl from the hallucination I had. Her red hair was no longer thin. It was thick, and long, and wavy, perfectly shaping her heart-shaped face. Her teeth weren't rotten, they were pearly and white. Her eyes weren't bleak and soulless, they were a warm hazel.

She tossed her hair aside as she sent me a gentle smile.

She held out a hand to me, and I was almost revolted by her politeness in a situation like this. "Nice to meet you Florence"

I placed my hand sloppily inside hers to return the gesture. "Ditto."

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 **A/N: Hey everyone! Long time no see. I hope you enjoy the first chapter of this story, it was kind of rushed. I got relaly sick again, but I'm better now. Hope you all continue to read this story, let me know your thoughts.**

 **Also: a trailer was made by the amazing Knarl for Things We Lost In The Fire. Go check it out its on my profile. It's incredible. Thanks for all the amazing reviews to my last chapter.**

 **Enjoy :)**


	2. A Deal

**A reminder, I do not own The Maze Runner or The Scorch Trials. That belongs to James Dashner.**

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"This way, shank," I hitch hiked a thumb over my shoulder.

She made a face at my nickname.

"Uhh… It's a— never mind." There was no use trying to explain. "Sorry what did you say your name was again?" I asked, peering over my shoulder as we took our sweet time walking down the corridor of rooms.

"Rhea" She paused, "Rhea Holbrook."

I swayed gently back and forth in a nodding motion.

"What's your last name, Florence?" She asked with a polite smile on her face.

My face contorted at her question. "Uhh…." I replied without looking back, "It's um— well it's complicated."

"Florence Complicated?" She started, causing me to turn around and look at her. She arched a brow, "Sounds like a funny last name to me."

I tried to stop the corners of my lips from curling upwards. I stabbed a finger at her, narrowing in my eyes. "I like you…"

She giggled as she swept away the curtain of red hair that clung to her sand-swathed skin. "So this place is pretty high tech, eh? Maximum security everywhere."

"Yup," I lazily replied, popping the 'p'. "They don't want anyone getting in," I paused our trek as I dauntingly turned around and added, "Or getting out."

She went bug-eyed.

I let out a weak laugh as my eyes sank to the floor. I took her a moment to trail after me when I started again, but I heard the light pitter-patter of her feet seconds later.

"How long have you been here?" She asked as we approached her room, only a couple doors down from mine. "I mean, WICKED was formed like ten or fifteen years ago or something like that, right?"

I shrugged, "Couldn't tell ya,"

Her forehead puckered as confusion wrinkled her eyes.

I slid her door open for her, gesticulating that she should walk in. When she did, I followed closely after. "It's a long story, that's maybe more appropriate for another time. For now, you'll have to settle for the vague answers." I gave her a feeble smirk.

She nodded, "Guess so," and then continued to advance in her room. She glanced around it, staring at its intense whiteness then turned back to me, her mouth parted open. "It looks like a jail cell."

I nodded, observing the exact imitation of my room. "I think that's the point." I folded my arms, latent against the open doorframe until I could find a moment to depart to my room. "So are you related to any of the other cranks out there? Family? Friends?"

She shook her head. "Nope," Lugubriousness washed over her. "My parents died during the first wave of the sun flares. I'm an only child. My extended family all reside in England, so it's just me. We were all just a group of survivors that, amazingly enough, didn't catch the Flare. We all met by chance. One after another we formed a bigger group. We all had a plan to trek to Denver, the only healthy city left. Clearly, we didn't make it there. We picked up a little girl along the way, Lucia, and she infected all of us." With her eyes sewn to the floor, she rubbed her forearm. "A bounty hunter tried to bring us in to the Crank Palace—"

"Crank Palace?" I straightened my posture in eagerness.

"Yeah, you haven't heard of it?" She shook her head, "Boy you really have been cooped up here." She trailed off. "Anyways, it's just some abandoned city in Michigan. Think of it as a giant hospice. People only go there to die; although, most of the people there are 'past the Gone'. It's eerie, really. The whole city looks like a Chernobyl scene or something. There's a few Crank Palace's around the world, as I'm sure there's most likely a few safe places like Denver."

My lips tightened into a white line. I felt pity for a girl I hardly knew. They had done a good deed and tried to help a girl and in return they received a deadly virus.

"Anyways," She shook her head again, and waved her hands around, getting off subject, "We were stopped by WICKED before we got to Michigan and they said we had a choice, and that we were lucky to have such a choice."

"What choice?" I exhorted.

"Either we go crazy in the palace, or we go with them. They promised that we wouldn't die in vain, and that they needed us to study the development of the virus. Being Munies and all—" I snorted at her nickname for immune humans, "they wouldn't be in danger. They said they'd test our bodies continuously for the next week and a bit, until we are past the Gone. They said that we have a chance of finding a cure, if we let them use our bodies for research."

I bit my lip, hiding the weighty frown that started to form.

"I'd sure as hell rather die in hopes of finding a cure, as oppose to going crazy and eating the only people I know."

She had a point.

I brushed a hand through my hair. "Well it's getting late. Get some sleep. I'm sure they'll start testing first thing tomorrow."

"Alright," she riposted hopefully. Her full lips pulled into a smile, complimenting the heart-shaped face she had. "See you in the morning."

I gave a lackluster smile, feigning my cheerfulness. "Yeah, see you in the morning." I pivoted as her door slid to a close, and walked down the hallway to my room. It's unfortunate to see someone with such a bright future come to an ill-fated place like this. The girl was so sweet and friendlier then possibly anyone I'd ever met, but within a week or two, she'd be dead; or worse.

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 _"I bloody trusted you!"_ The words still stung just as badly as they did when I first heard them. I kept replaying the moment over and over in my head. I reflected back on his unrelenting glare. In the span of two minutes my loyalty transformed into distrust for him. All I wanted to do was to go back. I wanted to talk to him, talk to all of them. I just needed a chance to explain. Perhaps them deeming I was dead is better than believing I was a liar.

I think I'd rather have it that way.

"Florence," My arm forcibly shook, and I looked up from the bowl of cereal I was picking at. I was sitting at the table in my room. I thought maybe Janson or Alistair, or even Hannah was coming to talk to me, but when I turned, I was surprised to see the 5"3 girl towering over me in my chair, an apprehensive look plastered across her pale face. "You in there? I'm talking to you."

"What? Yeah. Sorry. Just daydreaming." I placed a fist underneath my chin.

"Day dreaming?" Her lips primed, "That was not daydreaming. That was other-worldly."

I shook her arm off me and stood up from my seat. "Did you need something?" I asked, only realizing after I said it how rudely it sounded.

"No," Her face dropped. "No not at all. I just heard over the PA they needed you down in Ward 1. When you didn't get out of your room, I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep. So I came to wake you."

My mouth formed the word as I said "Oh."

"Yeah,"

"Well thanks." I attempted a friendly smile. Making friends really wasn't a priority for me, considering WICKED would use friendship against me. This girl made it difficult though.

"No prob," There was a bit of awkward tension in the atmosphere, and she didn't say anything as she exited my room, only turned around to give an awkward laugh as she turned down the hall. She was adorable, really. The most lovable teenager I'd ever seen. She was one of those magnetizing people, that allured you for more information on her, and I had only known her for less than 12 hours.

I made my way downstairs, scanning for any sign of Janson as I did so. I wanted to have a word with him. By word, I meant punch him in the face. I was pissed. I wanted to see my friends again, and I wanted him to stop lying.

I entered the same room I had yesterday and arrived just in time to see Alistair setting up the machine from yesterday. No way in hell did I want to go through that again.

"No way," I had announced my arrival, causing Alistair and two other scrub-dressed employees whip their heads towards me. "Not again." I started to retreat, one foot after another. The others approached me like I was a small mouse, or a spider they were trying to catch. They inched forward, closer and closer, till finally, I made a run for it.

"Grab her and put her in the chair." I heard a familiar gruff voice dictate. Oh how I hated Alistair; although he had some odd charm about him that made him interesting. I had no idea where I was going, and when I had accidently passed the elevator; I knew it was too late to run back. My breathing hitched when I was faced with a few options to turn down. I had no time to read the signs, so I chose left. I could hear them gaining on me, and I knew that I had no chance, but I felt motivational in the moment and I knew that trying to flee was better than giving up.

I screamed when the two employees from the room clasped their hands around my wrists. In one swift motion, they turned me around, and one grabbed my wrists while the other grabbed my feet. They carried me at a slower pace than before.

I continued to kick and writhe, making it difficult for them to hold on, but I came up unsuccessful in trying to escape.

Coincidentally, the doors of the elevator opened the instant we came into view. Janson stepped out, a hand placed on Rhea's and another boy's shoulder as they watched in horror.

"You!" I screamed at him as I continued to thrash about. "You did this!"

Rhea's eyes were bulging out of her head, her mouth agape as she watched me. The other boy, much older than her and I, was slack-mouthed.

"Janson get back here!" I screamed as they continued to pull me down the hallway, almost out of view now.

"Everything is going to change!" he grimly yelled down the hallway. The way he said it was almost robotic. Like a new slogan. 'WICKED is good' was the old jingle for Phase One, and 'everything is going to change' was the new catchphrase for Phase Two.

I frowned in defeat when they stepped foot back into the room. Alistair gave me a proficient smile as I passed him. His gummy grin went even wider when they slammed me into chair. One of them held me down as I wriggled, grunting at every exertion he had to make. The other grabbed restraints. They looked like seatbelt straps. I winced as they tightened my wrists to the chair. My ankles were fused to the chair as well, and when they put the last restraint around my torso, I sighed in defeat.

Imitating me, Alistair let out a long-endured sigh as he sat down in the chair beside me, his hands folded in front of him. "Florence I know you're not very fond of this, but we have to measure your brain activity." His hands erected innocently in the air. "Not my decision, girly."

My body stiffened at the remark, reminding me of Minho's occasional nickname for me.

My heart galloped, in anxiety, fear, and dejection. Their absence was like a hollow hole in the center of my chest. That was more pain than any vision-inducing brain-testing machine could inflict.

They quickly applied the pads and wires to my head and forearms.

"We should tie you down more often." He flashed his famous cynical grin, "That was fun."

Sucking together all my spit, I hacked a mouthful of saliva at him. He groaned as he shot up from his chair, going slack-jawed in shock, which earned a smile from me. He wiped the wad of spit off his cheek and his face fell grim.

He pointed a finger at the other two. "Initiate the shock."

Just as I was about to object, a painful electrocution went through my body, and I went limp.

* * *

 _This dream— or vision/hallucination… whatever it was— included grievers. Lots and lot of grievers. Their ghastly form was just as horrifying, and didn't fail to scare the living klunk out of me. The only odd factor was that I wasn't in the maze. I was in the Scorch; the dry, sun-searing, sand-swathed desert._

 _They all formed a giant pod, and their tails wagged back and forth like wild wolves, geared up to make a kill._

 _How could they survive out here though? The heat was barely survivable for me, let alone them. Their slime swaddled skin would dry out in this arid air. The sand would suck up all the moisture they had in them and they'd shrivel up and die. I guess it was their lucky day._

 _One of them let out a fury cry, and the others imitated it._

 _The leader, or what I assumed to be, moved forward, and that was my prompt to scamper for my life._

 _I was a good hundred feet away from them, but these things were gigantic. And they also had metal appendages that could enhance their speed, and not to mention the claw at the end of their tail that had stinger at the end of it._

 _The track blurred below my feet as I felt a surge of adrenaline overcome me. The steady thump of my feet against the dry earth echoed in my ears, in unison with the frantic beat of my heart. Forcing my legs to push harder, despite the painful cries of my thighs, I shifted to a sprint._

 _My hair whipped around my face at every chance I had to glance back, analyzing their advance._

 _Fifty feet away now._

 _Twenty._

 _Ten._

 _They were on my tail._

 _Or rather, their tail was almost on me._

 _I shut my eyes, accepting my destiny. But just as I was about to be eaten alive, I heard a noise. It was thunder. Its deafening growl let the world know what was about to come. The rain came seconds later, and a bolt of lightning fell soon after that._

 _One of the grievers let out a sickly cry, causing me to open my eyes and turn around. All the grievers had stopped moving, and they stared at their deceased friend as it lay lifeless on the ground, encompassed in fire from the lightning._

 _Like some crazy massacre, bolts of lightning crashed down, one after another, faster than they should have. Flashes of white light blinded my vision, causing me to shield my eyes. The environment was filled with shrieks of defeat, and painful cries as they all went down, one by one. Ten left, five left, and finally, the last one was left standing._

 _It turned to me, staring. Its beady black eyes locked with my horrified ones. I almost— keyword **almost** — felt sorry for it as I watched the last glimmer of white light collide with it, and it's last flicker of hope vanished in its eyes as it's body crashed to the floor, a blazing mess. The elimination of the last griever left me standing alone. The only sound was the crackle of the fire in the newly-formed craters in the earth. That and the howl of the wind whispering inaudible things as it passed._

 _No buildings, no people, no grievers, no noise, no friends, no enemies, just me. All alone._

 _And that was scarier than an army of grievers any day._

* * *

I didn't jolt awake like last time. Instead, my eyelids fluttered open tranquilly like I had just awoken from a long slumber. Alistair appeared to be the only one in the room. He was washing his hands near the sanitizing station, and he hadn't notice my awaken state.

I winced when I felt a mild jolt of electricity run through me, courtesy of the machine next to me and I struggled underneath the restraints. I felt like a true crank now.

A dash of hazardous red caught my vision, and I went cross-eyed as I tried to focus on the mild waterfall of blood that ran from my nose. It dripped onto my white uniform. I jerked my hand underneath the restraint as I attempted to wipe it.

Alistair heard the noise and shut off the faucet, turning around to me. He wiped his hands with a few sheets of paper towel and grinned at me as he walked over. "Morning sleeping beauty. Or should I say, evening."

I stretched my stiff muscles out as I turned to him. "What time is it?"

"5:00. I decided to let you have some time to enjoy the today. I'm nice, aren't I?"

I snorted.

"Oh come on," He frowned, moving to the side of the chair. "Don't be so sour."

My eyes rolled sky ward. The left corner of his mouth quirked up, "Tell you what," He bargained, "I'll let you go if you promise not to hit me."

I shook my head. "How about I'll let you go, and I promise not to hit you, as long as you tell me where Janson is."

He sucked in a breath, making a comical face. "Alright," He settled, "I couldn't care less about that prick. He's with the group of cranks that they brought in yesterday. If you turn left down the hall, follow the signs till you reach an auditorium-like room. Can't miss it, two large doors, at the end of the hallway."

I smirked as he released the restraints that were enfolding my wrists too tightly.

There was a light purple bruise around all of the restrained limbs, and I groaned as I felt the pang of pain around my torso from that restraint.

"Ohhh…." Alistair sarcastically commented, "That doesn't look too healthy. Sorry about that."

"Like hell you're sorry," I glared at him.

He chuckled, than stood up, walking away from me. "Now if you'll kindly remove yourself from the vicinity it would be greatly appreciated. I have to bring in the next crank."

I wanted to reply with a snarky comment, but I decided to leave it. I exited the room without looking at him, and I followed his directions to seek out my demise. My tongue pressed heavily to the roof of my mouth in anticipation as I quickened my pace. This was the same hallway I had woken up in after my leg had been operated on. I shifted to a light jog, and burst through the familiar doors.

Clearly interrupting something, I jogged around the table full of cranks. Some sort of presentation was going on. It seemed he was vaguely explaining their journey at WICKED. When he noticed my arrival, he pressed a button on the earpiece he had. He murmured something, retracting from me as he did so.

The group of ill-fated cranks watched in horror as my fist collided with Janson's jaw line. He groaned loudly as he rubbed the side of his face, cranking his neck from side so side to relieve pain.

"Now I'm not going to say I deserve that, but there's no need for violence," was his response.

"Violence?" I laughed crazily, "Violence? Are you serious?"

A wave of whispers broke out along the round table of cranks.

"You shuckin' killed my friends. Veer, Chuck, Jeff all those people in the glade." I glowered at him, "You're a monster. You lied to me. All these memories I had, all these thoughts I had, they're not even real. You brainwashed me to believe that you're good, but you're nothing but a liar."

"Keep your voice down," He threatened.

"No." I smiled, "I won't. These people deserve to know that they're going to die in a week." I pointed a finger without looking at them, "They're going to die, and it's not going to be pretty."

I shoved him square in the chest, and he staggered back with a deadpanned face. "I don't care, Florence. I could care less. What's done is done." He whispred low enough for only me to hear.

"You're a monster." Tears filled my eyes, but I tried to fight them back.

"Maybe so. I'm just doing my job, as you should do." He replied with a grave tone.

"What's my job? To fall in love with Thomas? To lie to the only family I have? To get everyone killed? I'd rather die." My brows furrowed together.

"Florence," He smiled, taking a step towards me. The knuckles of his right hand grazed along the side of my cheek. "You're going to die anyway."

My bottom lip jutted out, quivering as I scowled furiously.

"So why does it matter? Might as well help us in the process." he suggested.

"No."

He sighed, folding his arms across his brawn chest. "Alright. You're vital to finding a cure. So what's it going to take for you to oblige to everything?"

My face softened, and a tear ran down my cheek. I stopped it with my thumb as I mused for a moment. His brooding brows rose in success when he realized what I wanted.

His lips parted as he paused before speaking. "Tell you what. Give me a week. A week of doing whatever tests on you that we want, a week of sticking needles in you. One week, and I'll return you to them."

"A day." I tried to bargain.

He shook his head. "Six days."

"Three."

"Six." He settled

My tongue slid along my bottom lip. "Six?"

"Six days. My final offer."

I nodded, my eyes sinking to the floor as I thought about my return to the others. My heart was racing at the idea of seeing Newt again.

"Six days and I'll return you. But keep in my mind, this is two weeks of experimenting compacted into six days. It could wreck you."

"I don't care."

His head dipped down in affirmation. "It's settled then. Six days, and you'll enter the Scorch."

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys, just a reminder: Knarl made me an AWESOME  trailer for Things We Lost In the Fire, please go check it out on my profile! Thanks to those who watched it! Thanks for the reviews from Guest, ImABird27, firecetiger333, StoryLover00, Guest, Knarl, and Embers To Ashes.**

 **Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter. I apologize if the last one was rushed. After re-reading it I realized that it was. Hopefully this one's a little bit better.**

 **By the way, casting for Rhea is Holland Roden.**

 **Enjoy!**


	3. Friends?

I spent the remainder of my day and the whole of the next day in my room. They had locked me in there, only opening it to offer me food. It was odd, maybe some form of punishment for attacking Janson. Maybe it was the Chancellor's idea. I had no idea.

All I did know was that I was going crazy in here.

I hated the color white.

Staring at the blinding color for twelve hours straight made my head split into two. I blew a raspberry as I let my head hang over the side of my bed. I rolled over, letting it curtain in front of my face. Out of boredom, I braided it.

Was this the intention?

To make me think?

To hell with that. If this was some way to psychologically break me down by making me go insane in a secluded room, I wouldn't allow it; although they were on the right track.

I groaned, rolling over again in tedium. The ennui was getting to me. I somersaulted over my bed and fell onto the floor. Standing up, I flattened my fluffy hair out. I took long strides towards the door, and pounded on it when I got there. My fist repeatedly made contact with the tinted glass.

"Let me out…" I groaned.

As if a prayer was being answered, the door unlocked. It slid open at a leisurely pace and I poked my head out. Peering down each side, I concluded that the hallway of rooms was deserted.

My face scrunched up in confusion. "Hello?" I called out, in hopes of a reply.

Nothing. It was completely desolate. I took chary steps as I toddled down the hallway. Everyone's room doors were open, but no one was occupying them. Not even Rhea, the girl I'd grown to like in the last two days, was here.

I pressed my hand on the ID scanner, unlocking the doors to the hive.

Analyzing the room, I terminated that no one was here, either. Someone was always in here. There were usually two employees working a night shift and a guard. My feet scuffed across the floor as I exited the hive and made my way to the elevator.

Pressing floor one— the only other floor I ever went on— the elevator jolted, before shooting down. I let out a small shriek, falling onto the floor. It gained speed, falling faster and faster, much quicker than it should have. I heard a familiar scraping noise of metal against metal. It sounded like the Box.

"No no no…" I could feel the hammering rhythm of my heart in my ears as a panicked frenzy grew. Drawing in a sharp breath, I found the buoyancy to stand up. I grabbed onto the railings and positioned myself in one of the corners. It seemed to keep plunging; and by now, I should've reached the bottom. I should've hurtled to my unfortunate death without a second of survival mode setting in.

It started out distant, but moments later a loud, blaring alarm starting crying. I covered my ears, wincing at the loud noise it made. It appeared to be getting louder and louder, and the elevator was moving faster and faster, and my chance of surviving seemed to be getting slimmer and slimmer.

A hairpin fracture appeared out of nowhere on the glass floor beneath my feet.

"What…?" None of this made sense. How could his be happening right now?

Like a crack in a windshield splitting from an unlucky pebble, the fracture broadened like a spider web. With a large intake of breath, I hoisted myself between two bars in the crook of the elevator, using all of the feeble strength I had. I detained my breath as the glass beneath my feet fell.

A black square of nothingness formed underneath my feet, leaving me more confused than before. There were no wires or pulleys holding the elevator, nor were there any sort of mechanical machinery managing the elevator.

I let out a small gasp as my sweaty palms slipped underneath me. "WOAH!" I screamed as I fully let one hand slip from the bar, and I started to fall. I grabbed a hold of one of the bars with my sweat-covered hands and tried my best to hold on. I let out small grunts as finger by finger, I started to slide off.

Out of nowhere, I felt my body magnetically being pulled towards the black abyss beneath me; like gravity was growing.

It was like a giant fan sucking me to my death.

Closing my eyes, I let my last finger slip from my lifeline.

I felt my body descend to my death below, and I let out a blood curdling scream.

"Morning sunshine,"

Ugh. I felt groggy, and tired. My body was stiff, and I couldn't even find the effort to open my eyes. I wanted to sleep, but I felt like I had already done so for a hundred years. It felt like I was a vampire walking up in a coffin centuries later after someone discovered me underneath mounds of dirt in a place where I wasn't supposed to be.

Someone snapped their fingers together, catching my attention. I blinked once, then again, to get the sleep out of my eyes, and then let them open. It took a moment for my pupils to dilate, and to make sense of the images in front of me. There was a bright white light exceeding me, and two dark shadows, one in the shape of a head. Was I in heaven? Or worse; Hell?

"Wake up," Someone groaned, grabbing a smaller, more miniscule light and shining it in my eyes.

I moaned, waving them away. Become more aware of the situation, I leaned my head up. It hurt to crank it sideways.

"Don't move too much," Someone advised, "You're going to have to take it easy for a while."

I fisted my eyes, turning to the voice that belonged to Alistair. I was in the Crank room. That was what we called the room where most cranks went to die. It was usually their last surgery before getting buried in the ground.

He grimaced as he removed the medical mask from his face, tossing it in the garbage. "Ooooo…" he made a face, scrunching up his nose. "You're not looking so hot."

"What happened?" I leaned up. Catching the color I had grown to hate, I looked down at the white hospital gown I hadn't remembered putting on.

"Surgery," he stated, washing his hands in the small sink beside the door. "Don't remember?"

"Not really…" I massaged the side of my temples, feeling a migraine start to form.

"I'd reassure you that that'll go away, but it probably won't." He smacked his hands together as he massaged the soap between his fingers. "Janson's making you take a few different pills. Whatever's in them is in the IV attached to you. You were unconscious all day so it was the only way to get it into you."

I looked from forearm where the needle was, and let my eyes trail up to the bag. There was a strange blue tint to it.

"I'm assuming you're pretty tired," He spoke for me, "That's normal. And it'll continue to be for a while." He grabbed a large pill bottle filled with multicolored capsules. "As well as vomiting, nausea, nosebleeds, migraines, vivid dreams, blurry vision, suicidal thoughts, loss of appetite, etcetera."

That explains me getting sucked into a black hole inside an elevator.

Feeling groggier than ever; I let my eyes rest as I leaned my head back on the uncomfortable bed. "What kind of pills are they?" I croaked.

"Would tell ya if I could, princess." I opened my eyes just in time to see him send me his condescending wink.

Parts of my vision started to blur, and I exhaled a large sigh at the annoyance of it. I'd be angrier if I could, but I honestly just couldn't find the point in the labor. Plus, I just had to keep thinking five days ahead when I would be returned. "What was the surgery for?"

"Again, if I was allowed to tell you, I would."

My eyelids fluttered. "Would you really?"

"Yeah, actually" He chuckled. "You're not as bad as your files describe you."

I turned my stiff neck towards him. "Was that a compliment I heard?"

He frowned, his brooding brows falling just above his eyes. "Don't get used to it, princess." Clapping his hands together, he turned away from me. "Alright, so the stitches will fall out in a few days, but for the meantime, be careful. No running, no physical exertion, and take the pills twice a day, every color. Except the blue ones, take those before breakfast and only before breakfast."

I scratched my arm where the IV was. "Why do I feel so sluggish?"

He walked back over to me, putting on only one rubber glove, and removed the IV from my skin. A drop of blood formed together, and he placed a cotton ball with medical tape over it. "It was a long surgery," He replied as he took the glove off, turning away from me. "You'll feel sluggish for a while. There's twenty stitches on your back, two spots, and a fifteen on the front, near your abdomen. Be careful then you stretch."

In a shocked reaction to the amount of stitches, my lips parted, my brows knitting into a line. "I still don't understand." I told him, locking my brown eyes with his dramatic green. "I remember being sent to my room, and I spent all day in there, and next thing I know I'm falling down an elevator shaft and I wake up after surgery."

Alistair gave me a weak smile. "Like I said, I'm not authorized to tell you much. All I can say is that we had to take a few samples of things that weren't…" He tapped his chin as he thought of a suitable word, "accessible," he continued, "And we had to undergo surgery."

I made a face. "So, what, you're cutting me up like a ragdoll and not telling me why?"

He clucked his tongue as he stood up from his seat, "Pretty much, sorry sweetheart."

I hated the repulsive names he nicknamed me. "This is insane. Is this what all the cranks go through?"

He nodded, "Only over the span of a few weeks. Your case is different, clearly."

"You guys can't just cut me up and drug me." I said in a grave tone, sitting myself up. I hissed when I felt the pain on my body.

He held his hands up in an innocent manner. "Your choice, not mine. Janson and you made a deal that I had nothing to do with."

I rolled my eyes. _Five days. Five days. Five days._ I kept repeating that to myself. I had to suffer through this, and in five days I'd be fine.

"You have to tell me something, at least." I solicited.

Alistair let out a long, unnecessary sigh. "For the sake of safety and medical reasons, I'm going to tell you that we gave you a partial nephrectomy."

"Which is…?" I trailed off, feeling dim for not knowing medical terms.

"A partial removal of your kidney," He remarked with a dour smile.

I choked on my saliva. Coughing, I tried to straighten my posture. He chuckled. I felt my blood boil beneath me, knowing that he was a munie and me, along with millions and millions of people across the world – well what was left of it— had to suffer through situations like this.

"But why," I asked, "And how would you know?"

He sighed, sitting down like he was prepared to recite a speech he had repeated over and over. "When you have the Flare; parts of your brain start to shut down. Your immune system weakens and your organs get infected. Your right kidney had diseased tissue. We want you to survive as long as possible, Florence."

I dropped my head, glancing down at my fingers as intertwined them around each other. My hair curtained over my face, and I peered through strands to see Alistair looking at me with a look of mercy. I didn't necessitate his pity.

"It's a common side effect of the Flare, and we know it'd develop over time." He explained his knowledge of my diseased organ. "We gave you an MRI when you woke up this morning. As soon as we noticed the disease kidney you went into surgery. I had to move one of your ribs in order to get to it, so that'll be pretty sore for the next few weeks or so as well."

"Awesome…" I replied sarcastically with an eye roll to show my frustration. My fingers grazed across the bumpy feeling manifested under my skin on my stomach.

Alistair's face softened as he leaned forward. "I suggest you take it easy. Go upstairs, grab something to eat, get some rest, and be ready bright and early for tomorrow. More testing."

"Even more awesome!" I sighed.

What had I gotten myself into?

* * *

"Can I ask you something?" Rhea chewed a mouthful or cheerios, her spoon spinning like a pendulum over the bowl of milk.

"Depends," I replied, confidently leaning in and raising my brows.

"On what?"

"On what questions you want to ask." I retaliated.

She shrugged, "Actually, I have multiple questions."

"I'll answer the ones I want." I replied cheekily, leaning back in my chair. We were in her room. On my way to my room she stopped me. She asked me how the work pad's worked, and I helped her with it, now I was stuck here watching her eat a bowl of cereal, while my stomach somersaulted and swirled due to the nauseous effects of the drug.

Her eyes narrowed in on me, and she smirked coyly. "Fair enough"

I snorted.

She scooped up another spoonful of cheerios, chewing on it as she talked. She pointed at my legs with the spoon. "I notice you're wearing a hospital gown. Why's that?"

"Surgery today. Partial nephrectomy." I dipped my head, "Next question."

She tried to hide her smile as she chewed on her cereal. "Naturally, I observed the massive scarring on your leg, not to mention the chunk of flesh taken out. Not trying to overstep my acquaintance boundaries, but considering I don't even have that long to live, I may as well call you a friend. So, in conclusion, how'd that happen?"

I bit my lip, narrowing my eyes at her. "Next question."

She shook her head. "I have like two weeks to live. The least you could do is answer my dying inquiries."

I cocked my head with a sneer. "Are you trying to receive pity from me?"

Her eyes rolled skywards and she smiled, "Maybe."

I sighed at her success. "I'll tell you if you promise not to say anything. Cross your heart, take it to your grave-type klunk."

She swatted a finger. "There! That. What is that? All that weird jargon you use."

I leaned my chin on my fist, while my elbow rested on the desk. I felt like a prisoner in an inquisition after committing some terrible crime. "Swear?" I asked.

She sighed, letting her spoon fall into her bowl, which unfortunately caused milk to spatter out. "Swear. If not, you can kill me." She shrugged, "Wouldn't make a difference." I rolled my eyes. We were so nonchalant about or death, it was unhealthy. "Anyways, your leg," She pointed again, with her finger this time.

I let out a lengthy endured sigh, preparing myself for the long story. "It was a griever."

She made a sour expression. "What the hell is that?"

"It's a scientifically modified lab-created spider-slug."

She deadpanned. "Holy shit."

"I know…" I exhaled. "It's pretty crazy, but given the circumstances, I guess it's not that hard to believe. A long time ago, right after the Flare became a craze, the remaining governments and scientist formed WICKED, right?"

She dipped her head.

"So their plan was to study the immune. They grabbed around a hundred munies, all teens ranging from 12-18 and planned to study their killzone. Their brains are being monitored 24/7 and their brain patterns help in curing the Flare. They're trying to figure out why they're immune, what makes them different. They're creating trials for them to endure in. They forced two people, Thomas and Teresa, to create a giant maze. I know this sounds crazy, but they created this maze in order to alter their killzone, make it spike. They split the groups in two and let them enter the maze, one by one, each month the same day. Before that, they inserted something called the Swipe to rid their memories. It made the brain patterns more drastic. It seems to be working, but it's all still under works. The grievers were created as a variable."

She was momentarily stunned at my story. Her mouth was agape and she just stared at me with a marveled expression. "I-I'm not sure I quite understand…" She stuttered.

I shifted to a more comfortable position on the chair, knowing that this conversation was going to take a while. "I was forced into the maze against my own will. That's how this happened." I gesticulated to my leg.

"Why'd they force you in there?" She asked eagerly, leaning in with anticipation.

"Long story short: I recently found out my whole life's a lie and that they inserted the Swipe into me too, only they plugged false memories in me."

She grimaced, hissing in a breath. "Shitty."

"Tremendously," I exhaled noisily

"So if you had your 'memories'—" she finger quoted, "before you entered the maze, you would have known how to escape it. Is that how you got out?"

"No, actually, I had no idea."

"Hmm," She nodded, letting the heaps of information sink in, "Still unsure why they forced you into the maze if you're a crank."

I smacked my lips together, wanting to avoid the question. Ah, what the hell. "Apparently when they found me, I was with a group of survivors, just like you. They were going to use me for experimenting, like they're doing now, but then they compatibly matched me with one of the most valued candidates for the trials: Thomas."

She wiggled her eyebrows up and down. "So you and Thomas…"

"No," I made a gagging motion, "God, No. He's like a brother. That's why they're pissed with me."

She recoiled. "You're just enduring in a series of unfortunate events, aren't you?"

"Pretty much," I bobbed my head up and down, "Could be worse, though. No complaints here."

She gave a weak smile, looking away from me. "So where are the other subjects now?"

"Phase two," I explained. Predicting her next question, I continued. "The second trial started without me." I bit my lip, my gaze submerging to the floor. His words echoed in my head the instant that I thought of him. The whole scenario was so catastrophic that it made my head hurt to think of it. They all thought I was dead, and they died believing I betrayed them.

"Mmm," I heard her mutter, "What's that look you have?" My face shot up, my eyes locking with hers. Her eyes slimmed as she overanalyzed my facial expression. "What is that?" She asked again circling her index finger in a spherical motion as she pointed to me.

"Nothing," I shook my head, "It's nothing."

She didn't push me any further. Whether that was because she noticed my dismay over the subject or because she was no longer curious beat me.

"One last question…" she held up a probing finger.

"Shoot,"

"I was there during the fight you had with the assistant director—"

"Janson," I spoke for her.

"Yeah! Janson, the one who's face kind of looks like a rodent," She gestured to her nose, elongating it in rapid motions with one hand.

I snorted. He did sort of look like a rat.

"You guys were talking about something, and you punched him. What was that about?" The palms of her hands faced up.

I licked my lips. "Let's just say Janson and I aren't particularly fond of each other. He's kind of an asshole, if you hadn't noticed."

Her eyebrows lifted high on her face. "Oh I noticed." She nodded.

I chuckled almost silently. "It was the first time I'd seen him since… everything." I spared her the details.

"I see," She nodded. Seconds later, she yawned, and that was my cue to leave; thankfully. "Well," She groaned, standing up from her seat across from me. "You should get some sleep. They're locking the doors soon, and you need some rest."

"Agreed," In contagious reaction, I yawned as well.

I stood up, moving towards the door while still facing her.

"It was nice talking to you Florence." She gave me a gentle smile. Her full lips perked up as dimples indented the side of her cheeks.

Before I could reply, she wrapped two thin arms around me. I was surprised by the hug, and only got a chance to embrace her milliseconds before she let go. It felt nice to have the warmth of another body near me. I longed for that.

Her taut cuddle made the bruises on my body ache even more, but it was worth it. "Goodnight, Rhea." I beamed as I exited her room. The glass door slid to a close after me, and I tiptoed to my room.

Not even bothering to change out of the hospital gown, I crumpled onto my bed, drawing the blankets over me. It was hard to get comfortable. My body was aching immensely and the stitches on my back hurt when I tried to curl into a fetal position. I opted for sleeping on my stomach with my arms underneath my pillow.

Due to the wired exhaustion from the day, it took me only seconds to fall asleep.

That night, I dreamt of the only other crank, besides Rhea, that I cared for.

Newt.

* * *

 **A/N: _HOLY SHUCKING SHANK KLUNK. HAVE YOU SEEN THE TRAILER FOR THE SCORCH TRIALS?_ If not... you must go watch it now. Guys I got this spectacular idea that could follow the plot line of the movie trailer (It's different then the book) but I'm not sure if you guys would hate me. It would all fall back into place, the same plot line as the book later on in chapters. So once again, I'm taking a poll. Writing is all about experimenting right? Should I completely stick to the book plot line or do you guys mind me veering off a little bit and making part of the plot line up? (While still following the book later on, of course.) _I'm so torn!_ PM me if you guys want to!**

 **Let me know in the reviews.**

 **By the way: Thanks for the reviews from ImABird27, Storylover00, InvisibleSOul4, knarl, Embers To Ashes, gms14, and insert name.**


	4. Lies

**So I have decided to take my own route and create a similar plot line to the trailer of The Scorch Trials. If you haven't watched it yet, go do so now! I hope most of you don't hate me. Everyone in the reviews seemed to agree it was alright to veer a little off course. Anyways, enjoy. I hope you will all still read. Sorry if this chapter is confusing and vague, lot's will be revealed next chapter.**

* * *

 _I locked my fingers inside Newt's and smiled as our hands wove and unwove together. He chuckled as he used his body to lightly sway the hammock in our room back and forth._

 _Dusk had fallen, leaving the only the last stream of light from the glade to illuminate our room. His thumb gently massaged circles on the back of my hand, he looked at me with a wide grin._

 _"Whatcha thinking about?" I asked him._

 _He smirked, "The Glade."_

 _"What about it?" I pushed further, a gentle smile on my face as I gawked at the amazing being beside me._

 _His eyes sank to our hand holding, and the smile slowly faded, making the atmosphere more serious. "I'm thinking about how for two years I wanted so badly to buggin' escape this bloody place, even if one of those options included death. Now I'm wondering how I got here, to a place where I actually want to stay in the glade."_

 _I exhaled, giving him a sad smile._

 _"Don't get me wrong," He shook his head, "I want out of this place more than anybody, besides Alby, but when we do get out, what will happen?"_

 _I bit my lip._

 _"I'm positive we'll lose gladers along the way, and what if that includes you or me? What if we're safer in the glade then we are out there? What if we're being protected in here?"_

 _I opened my mouth to speak, but closed it after coming to terms with the fact that I had no idea what to say._

 _"What if the loss of gladers isn't worth the escape?" He squeezed my hand once, than let it fall limply to his side as he rolled onto his back upon the hammock._

 _"Maybe that's the point," I morbidly countered, "Maybe some of us are supposed to die, even if that includes me, to be able to escape. Like survival of the fittest, you know?"_

 _"Maybe," he murmured, readjusting himself so his head fell on my shoulder._

 _I sighed, leaning my head back._

 _"Do you think we knew each other before the maze?" Newt asked, his hand falling into my lap._

 _Grinding my teeth together, I looked at him. "Possibly," I lied._

 _"I don't think so." He surprisingly retorted._

 _"No?" I cocked a brow._

 _"No." He shook his head. "I'd remember you. Even if my memories were completely erased, never to be bloody found again, I'd remembering having some connection towards you. I know it. You're a pretty memorable person, even for someone suffering amnesia."_

 _I beamed, "You're just being biased."_

 _"Maybe," He chuckled, grabbing a hold of my hand and kissing my knuckles. He closed his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. His deep sighs transformed into light snores, signaling his state of awareness._

 _Curling into him, I closed my eyes too._

 _I could relate to his speech about wanting to stay in the glade. It was the happiest I had been in a while._

It wasn't a dream. It was a memory, and it was the only thing pushing me to get through the day.

Groaning, I rolled adjacent of the bed. My body was tremendously sore from the bruises, and stitches, and scratches. The world around me split in two, and I held my head between my knees as I tried to keep what little food I ate for supper yesterday in my stomach.

Glancing over to the bottle, I popped four pills in my mouth. I shivered as I noticed the conveniently placed glass of water sitting beside the bottle of pills. It disturbed me to know someone had entered my room while I slept and placed that there; Janson probably. Speak of the devil, I needed to talk to him. If they were going to cut me up like a freakin' rag doll and drug me up more than a cancer patient, so be it. But I'd appreciate a forewarning.

Grumbling, I trudged lightly as I shuffled out of my room.

"Hey Florence!" My head twisted to the culprit of my name calling.

"Morning Rhea," I greeted with a smile, walking down the hallway to meet her.

"You mean afternoon." She corrected, "It's nearly noon." She pointed to a giant, spherical clock on the wall that was adjacent to the rooms. The digital numbers flashed on and off on the glass white wall.

"Shoot," I frowned, my gaze dropping. I rubbed the back of my neck, thinking about all the torture I had to endure in for the day. Alistair would be waiting for me. Either way, I wanted to grab a bite to eat first. Maybe that would settle the gurgling bubbles manifesting itself inside of my stomach.

"Got somewhere important to be?" She questioned, interrupting my train of reflection.

"Yeah, actually." I nodded.

"Is that so?" Her hands folded over her small chest, and I knew by just her gestures she was waiting for an explanation that I didn't want to give.

"More testing, I suppose," I paused, "But the earlier I start, the less time I feel like I've lost in the day."

"Hmm," She started walking, moving past me, which I thought was odd. I followed her, keeping up with her long strides as we made our approach to the end of the hallway. "Can I ask you something?" She questioned as we entered the cafeteria.

"You just did," I rejoined cheekily.

She rolled her eyes. "If you hate WICKED so much, why are you letting them test on you?"

I debated for a long while whether or not I should tell her answers to my motives. Deciding to divulge to her, I sighed. "They promise me they'd take me back to my friends if I let them experiment on me."

"You care about them that much?"

"You have no idea."

* * *

Today's testing was different. It consisted of electroshock therapy. It wasn't like in the movies where they strap wires to your brain and make you sit in a metal chair with a five point restraint. They literally plugged metal devices into my head, leaving small wounds. It wasn't just me either, there was five of us, all lined up in a row like coat hangers on a rack. There was a large metallic arch which had wires hanging from it with little connecting plugs on the end. After painfully plugging it into your head, the wires pulled you up with some miraculous strength they had and held you a foot up in the air.

I couldn't even begin to depict the twinge I felt as bolts of electricity run through my body, shaking me to the core. Thinking back to it made my brain hurt.

I felt the incision as the spikes on the end of the cylindrical plugs of the wire fused to my head. I hissed as clumps of my hair got caught, ripping it from my scalp, as my body was raised into the air via the supported wires. I wasn't sure how a machine like this, seemingly so harmless from first glance, could initiate a shock so incredulously painful that I actually screamed.

My muscles contracted, my skin felt on fire, and the searing pain manifesting itself showed no hopeful signs of it impeding. I wasn't sure what this experiment was trying to achieve.

I could hardly hear Alistair as he paced back and forth, explaining the basis of this experiment. "Electroconvulsive therapy is being used to intentionally trigger a brief seizure in your body, which I'm sure you're feeling now."

Hell yeah I was. I couldn't control the paroxysmal behavior of my body, and I didn't even bother to react to the blood that fell from my nose.

"ECT causes changes in brain chemistry. We want to see, with the aid of specific antibiotics, if we can reverse the symptoms of the virus attacking your brain." He chuckled cynically, "Unfortunately this won't just require one session. Multiple sessions will ensue."

Physically, I didn't know if I could handle the multiple sessions. I was already stumbling around, wondering if what I was seeing as real or a dream, and i could still hear the buzzing noise that I heard during the ECT session. It appeared that it wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon.

While striding past a corridor of offices, I noticed the lack of Janson in his bureau. "Is Janson around?" I asked one of the two guards that permanently protected his office.

The heavily armed man shook his head.

I made a face, and turned away from him. I still needed to speak to Janson. His workpad brightly lit up the glass room, and that's when the most brilliant idea popped into my head.

* * *

"I need your help," I slid into the seat across from Rhea at the cafeteria table, staring intently into her wide eyes.

"O…kay…" One of her brows elevated "With what?"

I grinned before explaining, and I stabbed a finger in her direction. "See this is why I like you. You don't ask why, and you don't ask what it is before saying yes, you just oblige before even knowing what I need help with."

Rhea blew a raspberry, "Girl, you could plan to overthrow WICKED and I would say yes. I'm dead soon, and considering you're the only semi-friend I've made I'll do anything to keep it that way."

I bit my lip as I tried to hide my innocent smile.

She went stiff, and her eyes bulged wider than before. "You're planning to overthrow WICKED…" she deduced by my lip-biting-tell.

I shrugged as I gave a nervous chuckle, "Not exactly…"

"Then what?!" She burst out a little too loudly, catching the attention of other employees.

I shushed her with my hands and hushed my voice to a whisper. "I'm going to tell you a secret."

"HA!" She laughed sarcastically, rolling her eyes, "More secrets. What a surprise."

I rolled my eyes at her reaction. "Whatever, just listen." I smacked my hands on the table and leaned closer to her. "My friends think I'm dead."

"What?!" She whisper shouted, her brows immediately pulling together, "What the hell do you mean?"

"You remember what I told you yesterday, yes?"

She nodded ebulliently, so much that I thought her small, fragile little head might fall off.

"So I may have possibly left out some details…" I trailed off. I gestured with two fingers, leaving an inch gap between my thumb and index. "Just a few details…" I made a wincing face.

She frowned petulantly. "Go on…" She whispered.

I licked my lips, preparing myself to leak as much information out as possible to her before an employee could possibly catch me spilling the beans. "So as soon as we got out of the maze, a few of us died. The Maze connects to this building, so as soon as we escaped we ended up in The Hive, well actually it was just a perfectly executed replica of The Hive—"

"Slow down," She cautioned with hands, "I'm getting confused. Start again."

I sighed to calm myself. "Okay, so we exited the maze and ended up in a replica of the Hive," I pointed to it, "Which I thought was the real thing,"

She nodded, finally grasping the concept of my words.

"Rewind to a few months before when I first entered the maze…" I trailed off, "My friends never knew that I had my 'memories'. I would try to tell them, but I would get these terrible migraines and nosebleeds, and WICKED physically wouldn't allow me to tell them, because they were controlling my brain."

She looked horrified.

"The only person I told was Thomas, which obviously they allowed me to tell for particular reasons such as what I told you last night," She nodded again, "So when I escaped the maze Alistair, one of the highest ranking Doctor's, also the person responsible for me and my actions, lied to my friends and told them that I knew all along, that I was sent there as a spy. He gained their trust by saying he was there to save them, and he told them I knew the way out of the maze the whole time, which I didn't, and he made it seem like I betrayed them."

"Oh my God…"

I held up a finger. "Not the worst part," I sighed, "Shortly after that…" I pinched the bridge of my nose, reliving all the yelling and curses at me courtesy of Newt. "After everyone believed I betrayed them," My eyes snapped open again, "Alistair shot me. Four times. All in the back." I gesticulated to my behind.

She hissed in a breath and grimaced.

"I thought I was dead. I was sure of it," I glanced back to a WICKED guard who was by the door monitoring the lunch room. "I was paralyzed, but I could still hear everything. Turns out it was a nuerstim dart that stimulates death. A few other WICKED employees posing as saviors practically pried the others of mine and a few of my deceased friend's bodies. They were sent to what they think was a safe house, but now I suppose they figured it all out and they gave the OK to enter the second trial."

"Okay…" She scratched her head, trying to wrap her head around everything. "But what do you need my help with."

I smiled, "So rewind again to a few months ago when Thomas and Teresa entered the maze."

Her head, once again, bobbed up and down.

"Thomas and Teresa have a... gift… you could say."

Her brows rose again in a quizzical matter.

"They're telepathic," I revealed, waiting anxiously or her reply.

She heard my words, thought them through in her own head, and then nodded. "Continue."

"So I'm thinking: maybe tomorrow or whenever Janson leaves next, and if I can get past the two guards, you can help me access his Workpad momentarily. I just need enough time to telepathically connect Thomas' brain to mind, just so I can send a message that I'm still alive."

"You think that'll work?" She asked despondently.

"It's the best chance I have to at least letting them know I'm alive, and that I'll return." I explained.

"What about passwords?" She opposes, "Janson has to have passwords. How are you going to get past that?"

I smirked, "I know the password."

"Oh do you, now?" She snorted sarcastically.

"Yup," I nodded, "At least I think I do." I told her. "Right after they inserted the Swipe into me, and the false memories, they gave me a job to make it all seem real. I was in charge of creating a robotic bug used to spy on the maze called a beetle blade. While making the beetle blade, I needed access to a lot of the rooms, and a lot of files and workpads,"

Her lips tightened into a line as she fervently waited for the climax of my explanation.

"I shit you not: WICKED has the same password for almost everything in this building, except for the files room. The password is either W-C-K-D or 9-2-5-3, which is the keypad version of W-C-K-D."

She remained quiet for a while.

I glanced back at the sentry by the cafeteria door once more, observing that he was now looking at me, and I leaned closer to Rhea. "So will you help me?" I asked, fixing my eyes with hers.

A warm smile rose on her lips, growing wider and wider. "Hell ya."

* * *

"Just a thought," She pointed out as we walked back to our rooms after dinner that night, "How are you so sure that your friends are in the second trial?"

I gave her a hazardous look. "What do you mean?"

She looped her arm around mine, pulling me closer as we passed another crank from her survivor team in the corridor. "I mean: What makes you think that they're so willing to enter the second trial? The second trial is making it through the Scorch, right?"

I nodded. I think that was it.

She pulled me into her room, sliding the door shut behind me to further speak more in depth about her theory.

"If WICKED is as wicked as you say they are…" She paused to giggle at her pun, earning a strident eye roll from me, "Then there has to be some type of loophole, some sort of lie they're creating. What if they're not in the second trial at all? What if they're still at the safe house living a lie?"

I had never thought about it.

She started to pace, running a hand through her long locks of red hair as she highlighted her theory. "Think about it! Letting them live a lie in a safe house where they believe they're safe is the perfect way to alter their brain activity. Once they figure it out, their brain patterns will go through the roof."

"I don't know," I shook my head, "I'm absolutely sure they want them to enter the Scorch as a second trial. That was all part of the plan."

"Well maybe they are in the second trial," She pondered, sitting down on the bed, "They just don't know it yet. They're living in the safe house letting the subjects live a lie while they study them. I'm sure they're still obtaining information from the maze. It's the perfect why to analyze them and take blood tests, fingerprints, brain scans, and etcetera. They'll think they're doing it for the greater good, but unknowingly they're still at WICKED. It's perfect. When they're ready, they'll enter the Scorch and do the second trial."

I made a face. "WICKED won't have all the resources to do that at a fake safehouse though."

Her eyes widened as she stared at me, leaving me dumbfounded. "You know that WICKED has more than one building, right?"

"What?" I spat. No way.

"They have three. Their headquarters are here, they have a small facility just a few miles from here, and then another small one in Canada."

My jaw dropped.

"You seriously didn't know that?" Her face scrunched up in confusion.

I gestured to my face, "Does it look like I knew that?!"

"I guess not," She snarkily replied, moving to stand up in front of me. "So theoretically speaking, they could still be at the safe house, which is really WICKED's smaller facility just a few miles from here... Or the one in Canada."

I chuckled, rolling my eyes, "I'm sure it would be the one a few miles from here."

"Yeah, whatever," She flipped her hair over her shoulder, "So do you think it's a possibility?"

I tapped my chin for moment as I thought about the theory she had just planted in my head. "Maybe that's why Janson hasn't been around all day. Maybe he's with them."

"Exactly!" She pointed both her index fingers at me. "And that promise that he made you: to return you to your friends, do you really trust he'll do that?"

My head dropped. "No… but it's the only hopeful idea I have to cling onto."

"Janson doesn't seem like the person to just let you go. He doesn't let people get what they want. Either he was lying or he's genuinely a nice person."

I shook my head, "Definitely not the latter."

"Agreed," She nodded, "I say we do some snooping and find out what's really going on in the second trial."

I waggled my head. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

 _ **FIVE DAYS EARLIER...**_

* * *

 _How very little can be done under the spirit of fear._

Those were some of the last words Florence sparred before she died. Before they had been rescued he had wondered what that meant, but now, he worshiped those words like a last lifeline. Huddled away in a mysterious building, miles away from the place they escaped, he grew scared. After two years in the maze, they had finally escaped. The people that had tortured them were dead, all except the one that killed Florence.

After they left in the helicopter, Newt immediately slipped into an ill state. All he remembered was flying for a few hours, and then landing once darkness arrived. It was a large building in the middle of the desert. There was a long cement walkway with large, buzzing, fluorescent lights on each side; that led to a small, claustrophobic security-type room. They were escorted by numerous men with heavy weapons and gas masks, which freaked them out. Did this have to do with the virus the lady was talking about in the video? Or was that all a lie? Their saviors made them seem evil.

After arriving inside the building, they were given blood tests, fingerprint scans, and even new clothes. They had pajamas. That was something they never had the luxury of in the Glade. The pajamas were white in color, reminding Newt of the clothes Florence was sent up in, only these had no symbols of "WICKED" On them.

All of them, including Teresa, were sent to a dorm room with numerous bunk beds. They were gifted the luxury of pizza for dinner, and as soon as their heads hit the pillow, they fell asleep.

But not Newt.

Newt lay awake, his mind whirl winding at the thought of Florence.

 _How could someone so blood beautiful turn out to be on the bad side?_ He thought. But it made sense, didn't it? It was like some sick love story; falling in love with the antagonist. _Love._ That was a word he hadn't ever used with her, and he would never have the chance to. He only ever used that word as a nickname for her.

How could you love someone who wasn't truthful to you? A relationship requires trust, and she broke that. She took it, and smashed it to miniscule pieces, impossible to glue back together. But he couldn't help thinking about her.

Most importantly, he couldn't help thinking about the sight of her as he lay in her arms dead. Blood spurting from every wounded hole, red crimson falling from her nose, tears streaming down her eyes, and her quivering, dry, cracked lips as she tried to say something to him. She glanced over to her best friends, Thomas, Minho, Teresa, and then she looked at him. He saw the disparity in her eyes. He saw that looked that said _"I'm sorry,"_ and he knew that something much more iniquitous had forced her to do this.

She deserved to be yelled at –maybe— but she did not deserve to die. Neither did Chuck, or Gally. He could feel the literal break of his heart as she drew in one last breath, exhaled, and then never breathed in again. Her eyes shut so peacefully, it looked like a movie scene.

"Newt,"

His stupor was broke by Minho's words. Minho, only a bunk bed away from him, was curled up in a quilt, facing him. He could hardly squint enough to see him in the low light. The only luminosity that occupied the room was what streamed through was the exterior fluorescents, by the walkway where they had entered the building, which scattered beams of light through the blinds.

"What," He murmured so quietly, that he momentarily thought he had only spoke it in his head.

"Go to sleep," He urged.

Newt sent him a scowl. "I'm not blood bothering anybody. If I want to stay awake I'll buggin' stay awake."

Minho rolled his eyes in utter frustration. "You're bothering me. Go the shuck to sleep. Tomorrows a big day, you heard the guy at the gate. Tomorrow marks the day of our new lives."

Instead of replying, Newt opted for rolling over, showing Minho his back.

"Don't be a Slinthead." He commented moments later.

Newt ignored him. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that applied any relief from the painful day.

It was silent for an excruciatingly long time, and Newt thought Minho gave up on his quest for unconsciousness and fell asleep himself, until seconds later, he heard Minho sigh deeply.

"I miss her too, bud."

Newt's eye's forcibly closed tight, and he wrapped his arms around his body, hugging himself. Who was he kidding? He didn't care about what she did, he didn't care that she betrayed them, he didn't care if she knew a way out of the maze, he didn't care if she was evil— although he could swear that she wasn't— but hypothetically speaking, if she was the most sinful person alive, he didn't care. He was the only girl he knew romantically, and he wanted her to be the only girl. He loved her. Maybe that was just the sight of her death speaking, but if he didn't love her, he was sure as hell getting close to loving her.

Something that crossed his mind during that insomniac night was her words before they escaped the maze.

 _"Earlier, in the Bloodhouse, you said something while we were grabbing weapons…" Newt looked down at the girl who's life he felt responsible for. "You said you needed to tell me something, that it was important. Now's a better time than ever…"_

 _"I want to tell you…" Her eyes sank to the floor. "But I can't."_

 _"Why's that, love?" Newt questioned, feeling himself smile as she allowed his nickname for her._

 _"It'll all make sense, soon enough; as soon as we get out of here. Just promise me something." She gazed up at Newt with vacant eyes, "Promise me that once we got out of here, because we will that you won't think of me any differently than you already do. Promise me that you won't abandon me despite what you're being brainwashed with." She paused, "Do you trust me?" She asked._

 _Of course he did. "Yes,"_

 _"Good…" She nodded. "Good. Just give me your word that you won't hate me."_

 _"What are you talking about?"_

 _She gave a weak smile, a smile that allured you for more. One that had secrets ridden beneath it. "Everything's going to change."_

Everything's going to change. He tried to cling on to all of her words the last few days, but his mind was so overwhelmed with the dramatic events, he couldn't seem to remember everything. Did she try to forewarn him?It didn't matter anymore.

He clung to the blankets tightly, holding them as if they were her, and he glanced back at Minho once before opting to sleep. Minho's eyes were peacefully shut, and the light snore coming from his mouth proved furthermore.

Newt sighed as he rolled back over. He moved his pillow down to hug it and he rolled onto his back as he looked at the bunk bed above him. Thomas was sleeping soundlessly above him, and he could see the light indent between the blocks of wood of Thomas' body.

Written between the lines of the blocks of wood was a name. _"Naomi was here"_ It looked like the writing of a young girl. Maybe ten years old. He reached his hand up to touch the indent's of the wood and he let his pads graze over the bumpy manifestations like a blind man reading brail.

How many had slept in this bed before him? How many had lived and died here? What was the world outside like? He had so many questions, but he had to shut his mouth until tomorrow.

With his puffy, red, eyes slowly falling, he allowed the welcome of sleep. His last traces of thought ebbed away as he slipped into a much-needed sleep.

* * *

Morning seemed to arrive for Newt much quicker than expected. He was the last to wake up, and he probably wouldn't have woken up if it wasn't for Teresa shaking his bruised body awake.

He gasped slightly, and bumped his head on Thomas' bunk.

"Put these on," Teresa tossed him. "Some man wants to talk to us. He told us to be dressed and at the main doors at 10:00." He watched as Teresa looked down on her wrist, where a watch that wasn't previously there when he last saw her appeared. "And it's now 10:05." She continued.

He snatched the clothes from her and stood up.

She jogged lightly out of the room explaining that she "Would give him a minute to get dressed." And if he wasn't done in time, "She would break down the door and drag" Him out.

He shivered. Girls were scary.

He slipped on the white long sleeve shirt and a pair of dark wash jeans, along with a pair of black and white sneakers with a thick sole. It felt weird to wear normal clothes. Normal clothes for him consisted of khakis, thin shirts, satchels, and whatever else they could get their hands on.

He jogged out of the room, ten seconds before Teresa threatened to break the door, and he joined his small crowd of friends in the hallway.

They all just stood, confused, with perplexed expressions drawn on their faces as they observed the busy hallway.

A few men passed by in gasmasks and heavy suits, others walked by with guns. Newt was sure there was a dead body under the gurney that rolled by with a black quilt draped over it.

"Who wants to talk to us?" Newt leaned over to Winston.

"Dunno," He shrugged, "Teresa went to the washroom and she said a man stopped her on the way there. He told everyone to be ready at ten."

Newt frowned, looking back and forth down the swarming hallway.

To the left of him was more rooms, and at the end of the hallway what seemed like an office. To the right, there was a short hallway that opened up into a large circle, where they had entered the building, and far past that, there was another hallway that ended just like the one by their dorm.

Thomas said something Newt couldn't here, and they all started moving forward, in pairs, walking towards the open circle.

He made an effort to dodge past people, and accidentally collided with a few. Once they made it to the open circle, they looked North. South of them was the security doors leading outside, North was another set of doors. They were heavily guarded, with two men carrying guns on each side, while the door itself had a scanner beside it and steel bars that opened up, assumedly by pressing your palm to the scanner.

"Welcome to the Scorch, my friends!" The loud, booming voice stood out over others. A man moved towards them. He had dark, grey speckled hair. He looked to be in his late 40's. He had a long nose and thick brows, making him appear to have a rodent-like face. He held his arms out and greeted the gladers with a big smile.

Newt pushed to the front of the crowd, standing between Thomas and Minho. Everyone exchanged glances, wondering what to say.

"I know what you're thinking: Who am I? Why have I brought you here? Where are you?" He held up a finger, "I'll tell you, but I have one condition. Leave questions until the end. I hope all of you are mature enough to let me explain what has been going on, and what place this is. But first, I require one thing."

"Which is…?" Marcus asked from the back of the crowd, speaking for the rest of them.

The man pointed to Marcus, a smile forming on his face. "Your trust, young man."

Once again, they all exchanged wary glances.

"Do I have your trust, gladers?" He finger quoted the last word, smiling wide.

There was no reason not to trust this man. Any place was better than the maze. Anywhere was better than the Creators headquarters. One by one, they all nodded hesitantly.

"Good!" He chimed, "Follow me," He waved for everyone to trail after him.

Thomas moved first, and then Minho, and Newt, and the rest followed after, still sharing marveled expressions. The man turned back to talk to the gladers as he spoke, waving every so often as he darted between people in the busy crowd.

"You guys may call me Janson. I'm the highest official ranking partner here at the Survival Remissions Headquarters. Our goal is to save as many people on this earth as possible, hence why I sent my team to retrieve you." He made a face as he walked down the shorter hallway that led to the steel door. "I must admit, it was difficult getting past the Maze Creators to retrieve you. Not an easy task at all, which we anticipated, but we're just glad to have survivors. Not only that, but immunes such as you." He brimmed with confidence as he rested against the door. "As I'm sure you know, not everyone agrees with WICKED's methods, which is why we have methods of our own to figure out why you all are immune, much safer methods."

He grinned before continuing. "Before showing you around, I want to come to terms on a few things." He stopped when he reached the steel door, and the gladers stopped a wary distance away from him.

"As I'm sure you're all aware of: The Sun Flares have destroyed our world, leaving it in a rubbled mess what we call The Scorch. We don't advise you guys to leave, but we can't stop you if you wish. I promise you the best care here, and I promise you'll be safe from the Flare. The world outside is hanging on by a a **very** thin thread." He emphasized the word, gesticulating with his fingers. He tugged at the collar of his white turtle neck and smiled. "Beyond this door lies the beginning of your new lives."

He pressed his hand on the key scanner, and the steel bars started to slide open. He placed his hand on a large handle that Newt hadn't noticed before, and he grinned. "You ready?"

* * *

 **A/N: RECAP: Florence is open to Rhea's idea that maybe Janson is lying about the trials being started, hence why he's missing every other chapter, and her and Rhea have some snooping to do as to where the glader's positions are right now. Meanwhile, five days earlier,the gladers are introduced to what they think is there new safe life. Again, Janson lies. What a surprise, eh?**

 **Let me know in the reviews you thoughts. Any ideas or situations you want to see? I'm always open to suggestions :) Thanks for the reviews from ImABird27, Storylover00, InvisibleSoul4 (I LAUGHED SO HARD AT THAT POEM FOR YOUR FRIEND), ChpNinjaChick, and Athio.**


	5. Group B

**So it's become clear that some of you are still confused with the route I'm taking. I hope you guys are reading my author note's, they explain a lot sometimes. Just in case you're still confused: I'm taking an alternate route with The Scorch Trials. I think it'll be interesting to follow the plot line for the trailer of TST (If you haven't watched it go do so and let me know your thoughts in the reviews!) but I promise later on in the fic it will align with the book, only there will be some minor differences. I hope you guys don't think I've completely messed up and ruined this fanfiction... I've lost a few follows and favorites so I hope you guys aren't mad at me! _Please_ feel free to PM me because I would love to hear your thoughts on this. By the way, this following chapter picks up where the last one let's off in Newt's point of view.**

* * *

Newt was so unsure of who to trust, or if he should believe anything, but how could he not? This was all he knew. None of them had memories, none of them knew the good faces from the bad, and they just had to trust the Rat-faced man who called himself 'Janson'. Many of the boys were hesitant to believe that the safe house they were taken to was, in fact, a safe house. One of them being Marcus.

Every so often, during the tour, Newt heard Marcus lean over to Fry and question what Janson would say. He frowned often, and scoffed at certain remarks, and it was clear Marcus wouldn't have faith in the liberators.

"We have another safe house in Canada, much smaller than this one. When we find a group of survivors we split the two groups, distinguishing the healthy from the infected. The infected stay here with the immune; while the non-immune, healthy ones, travel north." Janson explained as they walked past a wide open-concept cafeteria, where quite a few people were eating breakfast.

An elevator was to the left of them, where armored men stepped inside, and Janson paused a few feet from it, gesturing to it. "The elevator, as you can see, but I assure you that you probably won't ever need to use it. It's mostly for employees or Cranks."

Cranks. What were Cranks? That was a word unfamiliar to them.

Thomas shot Newt a glance and shrugged.

From the back of the small crowd, Winston lifted his hand.

Janson pointed at the boy, "Assuming your question is about Cranks, I'll answer just this one. But please, no questions till the end, it makes things much easier, and quicker." He pleaded, "Cranks is a nickname for what we call the infected. A majority of people here are carrying the virus, allowing us to take blood tests and brain scans in order for us to further understand the virus itself."

Newt watched Thomas give Janson a distrustful look. Newt didn't know whether to the trust the man or not, so by default, he gave his faith to the man.

The elevator opened moments later with two guards carrying someone between them, like a prisoner.

Janson let out a theatrical sigh as he gestured to the small boy being aggressively carried down the hall beside them. "Sadly, progress has impeded here, but we will not resort to dangerous measures. Cranks reach a point, like this one, called 'the Gone' where they are no longer having human-like tendencies, rather zombie-like instead. They reach a point where they will actually start eating each other, or harming one another."

Newt was horrified at his words. He was speechless, gawking, just like the rest of them as he watched the young boy try to snap at his captors. His face was scolded and leathery-looking, and he scratched at it, causing blood to draw.

Newt opened his mouth to ask a question, but Janson held up a finger. "Save it for the end, please."

Newt's mouth closed, and he nodded at the man.

Janson motioned back to the elevator "The elevator only has three floors, this is the main floor. The basement is a testing facility; the top floor has more rooms. I don't advise you to go to the bottom floor; it's where the ones who are 'Past the Gone' remain. In fact, you're not allowed to down there without a password, for safety reasons." He made a face, and then shivered, "This floor has the cafeteria, the rec facility, washrooms, dorms on each wing, an entrance and exit to the outside, a few offices and more."

Everyone lingered quietly, looking from one another. Not knowing what to say, everyone just stared at the man dumbfoundely.

"Shall we continue?"

A few nods broke out, initiating Janson to continue walking. They sauntered past the cafeteria and advanced towards a small circle, which had three hallways expanding from it. The right one cornered the cafeteria, leading towards a bunch of office-type rooms, the one ahead had a door similar to the one they entered in: heavily secured and made of steel. To left, the hallway curved.

"I cannot stress this enough," He motioned with his hand, looking back at them as he talked, "Stay on this floor, for your own safety reasons." He shook his head, "Don't want you guys getting hurt."

He was silent for a moment as he let everyone observe the hallway they walked down. Hundreds and hundreds of rooms lined the wall, all with four or five beds in each room. Newt observed as a young girl exited her room. She yawned and raised her arm to her mouth to cover up the impolite motion. When her hands fell back down to her side, he noticed an odd necklace resting around her throat. No, not a necklace, more like a choker; or a collar. It had three red buttons on it wires running through the tinted black plastic.

That was odd. He would save that question to ask Janson later.

"These are your new rooms," he gestured to three doorways. "Teresa, we've provided you your own room for the time being. The rest of you must split into two groups and figure out sleeping arrangements."

Janson stared, unblinking, with his arms folded over his chest as he waited for someone to speak. For the first time in a long time, everyone remained silent, still.

Janson shrugged, sighing, "Alright, you guys can figure that out later." He waved for them to pursue after him again, "Follow me."

The building was pretty big. Not huge, bit bigger than necessary for the amount of people in it. They never went downstairs, nor did they go upstairs. No one objected, in fear of seeing these 'cranks' Janson talked about. They saw the rec room, which had a variety of video games and activities like ping-pong, air-hockey, pool, and even darts. They visited a lab that was down the shorter hallway by the cafeteria, and briefly glanced inside. Doctors were operating on the boy they saw earlier. Apparently he had smashed a rib while fighting another infected one and the rib broke in to pieces, fractured in more than one place.

Though, at first glance, Newt noticed the surgery looked more in-depth then that; there were far too many doctors in the room to seem like they were just performing a small surgery on him.

They got a brief glance at a maximum security room where weapons resided. There was a massive underground garage that they were never shown, but told about in case of emergencies. They were even toured to the washrooms, which were immensely nicer than the ones in the glade. They were shown Janson's office and another man's office, and were threatened sternly not to go in there. They saw plenty of other doors, but never got the chance to see what was behind them. Janson had only toured the main rooms.

At one point, Thomas pulled Newt quite a ways back and let the others pass in front of him. Newt shot Thomas an odd look as Thomas leaned closer to Newt and gripped onto his arm. "Doesn't this feel weird to you?"

"What—you grabbing my bloody arm? Yeah." Newt shoved off Thomas' grip, "You're squeezing a bruise."

Thomas sighed, ignoring him as his eyes moved back to Janson. "Something doesn't feel right."

Newt frowned. "Tommy, after two years of living in that shuck hole, I'm thankful to be out. I admit, it seems too good to be true to be rescued by these bloody shanks," He gestured to Janson, who was deep in explanation, "Maybe we're just not used to being safe."

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked his friend.

"I mean, we've never felt safe our whole lives, or what we remember of it. All of it seems too good to be true, but maybe we've finally lucked out. Maybe we're finally in a good place, even if it does feel weird."

Thomas made a face, "I don't trust this guy."

"You don't have to," Newt proffered, "But we're going to be living with him for God knows how long so get used to him." Usually Thomas was the one talking things through to Newt, it felt odd to reverse the rolls.

Thomas grumbled, making Newt chuckle.

"Alright," Janson clapped, releasing a satisfied sigh as he paused in front of the cafeteria again after doing a loop down the left hallway. "Questions?"

"Are we getting our memories back?"

"Where are the Cranks taken once they're past the Gone?"

"Why are there mostly teenagers here?" Newt asked that one.

"Woah woah woah!" Janson waved his hands aggressively in the air, "One at a time." He pointed to Winston, who asked the first question. "Unfortunately, no. You won't be receiving your memories back. We don't have the power, or resources to give them back."

Some groaned, while others remained content, like Newt.

He answered Marcus' question next. "The Crank's are taken downstairs, and are kept in enclosed rooms so they won't hurt anyone. Unfortunately, most of them die quickly after being moved down there. Like I said: You must not go down there." He warned. "We've lost a few immune to disobedient Cranks."

Newt shivered at the thought of someone trying to physically **eat** him.

Newt repeated his question for Janson. "Why are there mostly teenagers here?"

Janson smiled. "Your generation has emerged seemingly out of nowhere. Somehow, many of those in your age bracket haven't contracted the virus, although there are many that have. The adult immunes serve to work on the younger immune to figure out the workings of the Flare. A lot of elderly or adolescents don't make it through the first stages of the Flare and they typically die out, but there are lots, like some that are in our other safe house up North, that are surviving perfectly fine—"

"What kind of tests are you going to do on us?" Thomas interrupted the man, scowling at him while he waited for answer. "And are you going to kick us out at some point?"

"We're glad to provide you food and a place to stay for—" he chuckled, "Well forever, if that's what you want! All we want to from you guys is just a few blood tests, x-rays, MRI's, and a couple of interviews to speak about your experiences at WICKED."

"How are you different from WICKED?" Jack, a boy in the back, asked.

"We are different from WICKED in many ways. We assure safety in our testing, and we don't place you in harsh environments to study you. All you have to do is sit back, relax, and answer a couple of questions every now and again. Safety is our number one priority."

Thomas seemed doubtful of that, considering the look he shot Janson. What was wrong with Thomas? Why was he having such a hard time trusting the man? If anyone should have a hard time trusting him, it should be Fry, Minho, and Newt. They were in the glade the longest, besides Alby, and they were the ones who should have trust issues.

Thomas wasn't the only one seemingly untrustworthy of the gladers new allies, Marcus seemed vacant from them too. He had a smug frown on his face, that never faded, and his arms were crossed comfortably over his chest throughout the whole tour.

"The collars," Newt spoke up, thinking back to the girl with the plastic collar around her neck, "What are they for?" He pointed to a tall, lanky boy that passed by, heading for the elevator.

Janson eyes turned into slits and he gave a funny smile as he dropped his head. He chuckled, then looked back to Newt. "It helps us monitor the Cranks" He explained, "It tells us how far they are in the virus, when they'll reach 'The Gone' and it can also be used for obedience reasons when they try to attack one another."

His explanation made everyone go impressively hushed. Newt shivered, wishing he hadn't asked that question now.

"You guys are free to roam now," Janson stated, waving towards the cafeteria, "if you need me I'll be in my office. I'll be happy to answer any more questions you guys can think of. I know this is all still confusing, and your thoughts are still racing, but I promise you once things settle you'll realize that this is the safest place for you. The Scorch is a dangerous place, and with such little knowledge about it you wouldn't survive a day. Like I said, safety is our number one priority, more of precedence then finding a cure." A smirk rose on his lips. "Lunch is being served in the cafeteria. Meals are served everyday at 9:00am, 12:30pm, and 5:30pm. Got it?"

"Yeah," Newt accidently said aloud.

He beamed one last time at the gladers, and then turned to merge into the busy traffic of the hallway. The crowd of small gladers loitered by the elevators, across from the cafeteria, for a long time before moving. Everyone seemed overly cautious in the steps they took, and no one even entered the cafeteria till five minutes after Janson left.

Minho was the first one to amble towards the food, the aroma of a meal not made by Frypan was too good to pass up. Wisnton followed him quickly after, and eventually the others joined them, everyone except for Newt and Thomas.

Whilst all that was happening, the teenagers in the cafeteria, all ranging from thirteen to nineteen, sat and watched the gladers like a zoo attraction.

"What are you looking at, shank?" Typical Minho; beating on a smaller boy around his age, maybe a little younger, for laughing at him as he dropped his tray. Minho grumbled, picking up the tray.

Turning his attention away from his friend, he shifted his gaze towards Thomas. "What the bloody hell's up with you?"

Thomas jaw clenched as he grinded his teeth, gazing over Newt's shoulder at nothing in particular. "Nothing, it just doesn't feel right, you know?"

Newt shrugged.

"It's not just the trust issue, either. It doesn't feel right to be here without the others who deserved to be alive right now. Chuck, Florence, hell, even Gally."

He felt the instant pang of pain at the name of his dead friends. The second name made him go numb. He clenched his fists, trying to get feeling back, and to distract himself from thinking sad thoughts again.

"Maybe you're right," Thomas sighed, rubbing the back of his head. He scuffed his foot along the floor, making it squeak. "Maybe I'm just over thinking it. Nothing good has come out of surviving, and for once, we're actually all safe and alive, and I don't want to believe it."

"Yeah," was all Newt could say, his mind still lingering on Florence.

"THOMAS!"

Both Newt and Thomas turned their heads towards Minho. Minho was frantically waving at them, his arms aggressively windmilling for them to hurry over.

Newt shot Thomas an anomalous look before jogging over to his friend. Minho aggressively grabbed Thomas on the shoulder and pulled him further into the cafeteria.

"Woah!" Thomas exclaimed, "What are you doing— what's wrong?"

Panting, Minho dropped his hands. "Thomas…" He breathed his eyes wide. "We weren't the only maze."

Glancing around the room, Thomas observed the hoards of teenagers all appearing in the same state as the gladers.

A few nodded, others kept eating food, and the short boy beside Minho gave a weak smile, an almost apathetic one.

Newt didn't want to believe it, neither did Thomas, but it all made perfect sense. It explained why Teresa was the only girl to ever take part in the trials.

Something struck a chord in both Newt and Thomas, though. Newt exchanged a glance with his friend, and they both knew what the other was thinking. Being the closest to Florence, Thomas and Newt took everything she said to heart.

 _"God Dammit, Newt, you have to trust me. There are others, another group, group B—be careful."_

He remembered so vividly her saying those words with a gun pointed to her head.

"Group B…" Newt whispered aloud, earning confused glances from the gladers.

"Yes," The boy replied.

Newt's head snapped up to the male. He had an oval face, olive skin, and his dark hair was cut surprisingly short. His dark hoodie was pulled over his face, making him look more brooding and ominous. He deadpanned at him, waiting, just like the rest of the silent cafeteria, to see what he would say.

Instead of speaking to him, he turned to Minho. "Right before she got shot—" he cringed, not wanting to think about it, "Right before Florence died she tried to warn us that there was another group. She said there was a group B."

Minho's face fell as he tried to think back to, what seemed like an eternity ago, but was only yesterday. When his face lit up, Newt knew he remembered. He gave a sad smile to Newt, and he turned back to the blonde girl, placing the palm of his hands on the cafeteria table in front of him, "What's your name kid?"

The boy, sitting alone making him look vulnerable compared to the crowd that was surrounding him, shot Minho a look of disgust as he took charge. "Name's Aris." He replied.

"Well Aris." Minho shrugged his shoulders back, standing straighter in posture, "Looks like we're going to have a little talk." He patted the boy on the back, leaving him with an uncomfortable stature. Minho slid into the seat beside Aris, closely pressing his side to his. Newt, Thomas, Teresa, sat across from them. Minho waved the others away, not wanting to overwhelm the boy too much with a bombardment of questions.

"Name's Minho," Minho pointed to himself, then stabbed his finger at the others. "Newt, Thomas, Teresa." He folded his hands together, placing them formally on the table, "Now speak."

"Me speak?" He expressed a look of surprise. "Why me? You speak first."

"Don't bloody mess around." Newt cut to the chase, not wanting to waste time figuring out who would go first. "There are a lot more of us then there are of you."

Aris eyes squinted together, and he leaned forward. He placed his elbows on the table, one arm underneath his chin, then pointed with his other hand between Newt and Teresa.

They followed Aris' gesture across the cafeteria. As if on cue, a group of girls sitting on a long table, near the doors, turned to look at Aris, whispering to one another. There were at least ten of them. A blonde girl, around Newt's age, locked eyes with Newt and scowled at him. Newt made a face and turned back around.

"Guess there's more of them…" Minho let out an awkward laugh.

"Actually: They don't like me very much." Aris sighed, "Hence why I'm sitting alone. They said I started all this, that I ruined everything. One of them even tried to kill me."

"Huh…" Thomas let out a thoughtful mumble. Seemed pretty similar to their maze trial, only they wanted to kill Teresa.

"I was the 'trigger'" he finger quoted, rolling his eyes at the nickname.

"Keep talking, Aris, tell us everything." Minho pushed, leaning forward with anticipation.

He shook his head, "No way. You guys go first."

"Yeah?" Minho retorted, "How about I beat the living klunk outta ya first?"

"Klunk?" Aris went sour at the word.

"Calm down, Minho." Newt cautiously moved his hands towards his friend. "We're just as buggin' mad at the Creators as you are, don't take it out on the boy."

Minho rolled his eyes in an obnoxious matter.

"You go first, then we'll talk after," Thomas offered to the boy in a non-choleric matter, opposite of Minho's tactics.

"Fine," Aris sighed, meeting Newt's gaze. "I was thrown into this gigantic maze made out of huge stone walls—but before that my memory was erased. I couldn't remember anything about my life from before. I just knew my name. I lived there with a bunch of girls. There must've been fifty of them, and I was the only boy. We escaped a few days ago, maybe around three days, and they moved us into dorms here. The people who saved us killed the Creators. What's this stuff about you being in a maze, too?"

Mystification eddied in their minds, and they all went wide-eyed as they listened to Aris. They believed the boy, too. Newt recognized the look of pure fear in his eyes all too well. His eyes glazed over as he reminisced, and he had a hard time speaking about it.

"Wait a minute," Newt eyes rolled up in a quizzical matter as he thought all this through. "So you lived in a big maze, on a farm, where walls closed every night? Just you and a few dozen girls? Were there creatures called Grievers? Were you the last one to arrive? And did everything go buggin' nuts when you did? Did you come in a coma? With a note that said you were the last one ever?"

The boy went taut. He gulped before speaking. "So clearly you're familiar with the subject…" He scratched his head. "So the exact same stuff happened to you."

They all nodded in unison.

"So I'm like, his alternate form; only female." Teresa gestured to the boy, speaking mostly to Thomas.

"Seems so," Minho replied for him. "It's the same shucking experiment."

"How many boys were there in your maze?" Newt asked, eager to find out if Florence had an alternate.

He held up a single finger. Newt's eyes sank to a spot on the table that had a small dent in the plastic. He rubbed his neck.

"What's wrong with the stick?" He heard Aris say.

"Stick?" Minho perked up.

"I don't even know what it means. It's just a word they used when I got there." Aris sighed deeply.

Minho huffed, "So same experiment, only they had all girls and one boy, and we had all boys and one girl. Well two."

"Two?" Aris' thin brow rose high on his forehead.

Newt tried to tune the conversation out, he did, but anything involving Florence was alluring.

"A girl, Florence," Thomas enlightened, "She was a variable. I guess we were slower getting out of the maze then you guys so they sent her up ahead of time to get things moving," He gave details, "When we got out a guy accused her of being a spy for WICKED. She had her memory the whole time." Thomas eyed Newt as he spoke.

"Hmm," Aris gnawed on his lip, "Never had no one like that in our maze," His eyes relaxed as he looked from Thomas, to Teresa, to Newt. "So what happened to her? Where is she?"

Newt raised his head ad locked his eyes with Aris'. "She's dead." He wanly publicized.

Aris went bug eyed in surprise at the morbid retort. His lips pressed tightly together, he gulped, and then his eyes softened as he dropped his head. "What happened to her?"

"One of the men coming to save us shot her." Teresa elucidated in a pessimistic tone. "But we haven't seen the dude since. Maybe he's part of WICKED," she theorized.

"Hmm…" Was all he replied with, leaving them in an awkward silence yet again. He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated and closed it.

Newt played with his hands in his lap, avoiding the intense gazes from the others. His fingers delicately brushed over the pink scars and dirt-infused cuts on his knuckles.

"I uh…" Aris swallowed, "There was a girl. Beth. Once we escaped the maze they made this girl… stab… my friend." Newt looked up at the boy, noticing the hard time he was having emanating his statement. "Her name was Rachel. She was the girl who arrived right before I did." Newt knew that look of despair all too well. The glazed eyes, the bleak expression, it was all too proverbial.

Thomas frowned, shooting the boy a quizzical look. "This Rachel girl…" He licked his lips, "Could you like… I don't know— talk to her in your mind? Like telepathically?"

Once again, Aris went bug-eyed. Him and Thomas shared a deep gaze for a long while.

Getting tired of waiting, Minho cut in. "I'm assuming that's a yes then?"

"There's like a weird buzzing noise…" Thomas but his lip, making a face that showed his deep concentration.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about Tommy?" Newt leaned around Teresa to talk to him. "And why are you guys looking each other like you just fell in love?"

"I mean: as soon as we arrived here, I couldn't speak to Teresa telepathically." He started. Teresa nodded to back him up "Every time we tried, I would just hear this buzzing sound, like flies." He looked up, pointing to the blinding fluorescent lights above, "Or electricity."

Minho scowled with perplexity at Thomas.

"I'm hearing the same thing with Aris," He explained, "It's like static. Like someone has cut off a transmission or something for us to talk. I'm sure we could talk, or something, if we were connected. I don't know how it works."

"He's right," Aris concurred. "I could talk to Rachel, just like Thomas could talk to Teresa."

"Wait," Teresa frowned. "If Aris is my alternative, then Rachel is Thomas', which mean Beth was Gally's but Chuck was the one that died." She cupped her face and leaned forward, bending forward on the table as she pondered over group B.

Did that mean Thomas was supposed to die? Newt assumed so, but Chuck sacrificed himself for him.

"This is all hurting my head…" Minho closed his eyes, placing his head between his two hands.

"Agreed," Newt sighed. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm bloody hungry." He deserted the conversation and stood up, walking over to the buffet of lavish food only a few feet from him.

He piled heaps of food and the tray, not bothering to hold back by even the slightest, and sat down beside Winston a few tables over. Teresa and Minho got up to grab food as well, but Thomas was deeply engrossed in conversation with Aris.

 _Typical Thomas, always a curious fellow since he arrived in The Box,_ Newt thought.

Newt's mind kept whirling and gyrating, he felt like he was going to pass out. He felt more confused than when he arrived day one in the glade with amnesia. So many things to remember, so many things he didn't want to forget. He felt like he just wanted to take a long slumber and never wake up. He would be okay with that.

WICKED was more messed up than he had previously thought.

* * *

 **A/N: I have read the Scorch Trials, a long time ago. I've read it pleanty of times since (It's that good of a book) for those of you confused as to whether I've read it. Like I said... it's not completely following the book.**

 **Thanks for the reviews!**

 **Athio: Thanks!**

 **Bad Dancer: Haha ;)**

 **BookLover: I have read the books, how else would I write about it? Haha! Thanks for the review! :)**

 **ImABird27: Your review was funny, thanks for always reviewing!**

 **knarl: Thank you so much for the lengthy review. I'm glad you like the idea. It seemed when i took the poll that a lot of people enjoyed the idea, but after I posted the following chapter a few seemed confused and a lot of people unfollowed the story. I'm glad to have people like you who continuously push me to write! And I did do the line about the glue on purpose ;) Glad you like the brotp. More brotp next chapter!**

 **cecld16: They have no idea Janson is from WICKED, how would they? And in the trailer they don't look like they trust him, you're right! But that's a little more towards the end of the trailer, right before they go out on their own. Thanks for the review! :D**


	6. False Hope

"You alright?" Rhea asked, her face expressing concern as she looked at me.

"Yeah…" I breathed, slouching over my plate of casserole. "I just feel exhausted." I sighed, resting my eyes momentarily. "More eletroshock therapy today. I feel like death. It's not advancing us in the slightest, but they don't believe that."

"Hmm," She frowned, "You should be careful, don't want to burn yourself out."

"Tell him that," I nodded to Janson, who was sliding between a horde of employees in the Hive. We watched as he snatched up his jacket from a lonely desk, sifting in the pockets for keys to God knows what vehicle, and then pressed his hand to the keypad. The door leading exterior slid open with q loud squealing sound, then glided shut once he exited the building.

"So what's the plan?" She leaned forward, her voice only a harsh whisper.

I blinked back the fatigue and tilted closer to her. "We wait till tonight. There's two guards that are outside his office 24/7, so in order to get past them, we need weapons; but I don't particularly feel like killing anyone, I don't know about you."

She shrugged, making me roll my eyes.

"Or I could grab a few other cranks, create a commotion, it'll cause a distraction and they'll have to break us up."

I cocked my head, "You think they'll be willing?"

She nodded fervently, "Oh yeah, they're up for anything."

"Hmm," I shot her a roguish look, "So what kind of commotion are you thinking?"

She bit her lip, her eyes rising up in a quizzical matter as she pondered. I waited patiently as she mused over the topic. "Maybe I'll just get a bunch of us to walk down the hallway, get a few to shove each other. One gets mad, tries to eat the other, and if there are enough of us both guards will have to split us up."

I grinned widely, "This is why I love you."

She flipped her hair over shoulder in a boastful matter, "I know." She bolted up from the cafeteria table. "Meet me in hallway three at nine. By then, most people will be in their rooms or offices. Sound good?"

"Yeah," I beamed up at her. "Sounds good,"

She smirked, skipping away from me.

I returned my plate full of food to the kitchen and sauntered towards the dorm rooms. Holy klunk. This might actually work, if we were lucky. All we had to do was stick to the plan. I just hope enough of Rhea's friends were willing to help me. The more cranks the better.

* * *

"Alright," I turned to the others, huddling alongside the wall, just around the corner from Janson's office. "We're all clear with the plan, aye?" Janson was still gone, and he would most likely be gone until tomorrow afternoon, like usual. It only further proved Rhea's theory about him being at WICKED's other headquarters. I was still skeptical and I would remain agnostic until given proof.

Their heads all bobbed up and down. "Thanks again, guys," I demonstrated a warm smile.

There were around five Cranks, including Rhea. There was a small girl, Lucia, the one who infected them, two older brothers, Darren and Dean, and a brawn girl around my age; but much taller, named Cassandra.

The hallway extended a few yards down. There were four doors in the hall; a weapons room, a janitor's closet, and a back entrance to the cafeteria on the left side, and Janson's office on the right side.

Rhea clapped her hands together, "So Dean and Darren are going to shove each other around a little bit. Dean'll push Darren into Lucia and Cassandra will get pissed and hit Darren. We'll be walking a feet behind them, and I'll swoop in to help while you sneak in. We'll just improve from there. You do your thing and don't worry about us, alright?"

I bit my lip. I felt bad for getting them involved, and slightly selfish, but they seemed to have no problem in aided on the break in.

"Alright?" She repeated, louder.

I nodded, "I'll only need three minutes or so."

She nodded.

My heart started pounding as I was ridden with a wave of anxiety. Something about the way we were standing, plotting before we made a move, reminded me of the war with the griever's before escaping the maze.

"You alright there?" Darren asked.

I gave the boy a weak smile, "Yeah, thanks." I shook off the thought, and turned to peer around the corner. The guards were absorbed in banter. "Ready?"

They all nodded again.

"Alright," Rhea started pushing them all around the corner, "Go go go."

They all staggered at her incisive pushing, Cassandra even sent her a small scowl. Rhea silently snorted.

They all strolled in a horizontal line, filling up the hallway. The guards churned their heads to the attention of the cranks, and starting whispering to each other, deserting their previous conversation. One of them clutched their stun gun tighter in their hand as they neared.

"Thanks for doing this," I whispered to Rhea, bumping my shoulder to hers.

"No problem." She replied, turning to me. She gave me an affectionate smile, and it was then that I realized how lucky I was to have befriended her.

"WHAT THE HELL!" I heard Cassandra yell. The physique girl shoved Darren with brute force, causing Darren to retaliate with an inhuman snarl. She sneered back at him, and they ended up toppling over on eachother, just as planned.

That was our prompt to start walking down the hallway.

Dean dived in to drive Cassandra off, while Lucia cowered in the corner, a look of terror resting on her face. There were groans and grunt, and even a shriek when Darren had accidently elbowed Cassandra in the face.

Putting on her best acting face, Rhea gasped and swooped in.

At first glance, it appeared the guards were going to let them brawl it out, but when a hazardous red started to dispense from Cassandra's nose from the jostle she took in the face, they dropped everything they were doing and pounced in to aid Rhea.

The fight looked so believable that for a split second I thought they actually wanted to kill each other. Darren clawed his brother's face as he tried to cart him off of the pile of moving bodies, and Cassandra continued to liberate exasperated grumbles.

I tiptoed around the two guards as they leaned down to the dog pile, and typed in WCKD on the keypad, letting myself in the room. I closed the blinds that were hanging in front of the glass door and locked it to create an obstacle in case they did catch me.

I staggered over to his desk, tripping over a few objects as I did so, and slid into Janson's seat. I turned the workpad placed inside his glass desk on, and it took a few seconds to load up before coming to life. Luckily, it didn't require a handprint scan, like the Chancellor's did, Janson was too lazy to do that every time he logged into his workpad.

 _"Greetings, Janson. Please enter the password."_ I winced at the loud automated voice of the women and prayed that they ahdn't heard me outside. I heard the fight outside pursue more, and I silently thanked them.

I pressed the numbers 9-2-5-3, the same code to almost everything in this building, and waited anxiously as it processed the numbers.

It took a while, and I bit what was left of the stubby nails on my fingers as I waited. Janson wouldn't have changed his password, would he?

 _"ACCESS GRANTED,"_ A wave of relief washed over me, and I slid the sound bar at the top of the screen all the way down to mute.

I ran a hand through my hair, blowing a raspberry as I swiped through numerous files and pop-ups. He was so un-organized. I could feel my hurt descend to the bottom of my chest when a live video feed appeared on the screen.

Like a hammer, the beat of my heart pounded in my ears at a rapidly uneven pace as I sat with wide eyes, gazing at the screen like I had just witnessed a murder. There, on the live video feed, was numerous cameras surveillancing a building I had never been to before, one I didn't recognize, but one that looked a hell of a lot like WCKD's headquarters.

There were numerous cameras, around nine, and I tried my hardest to avoid the bottom right one. I scrutinized the Images, observing every detail that I possibly could. The top three screens showed small rooms. Two were operating rooms, one being occupied by a crank and surgeons, while the other looked like a washroom.

The middle row of moving imagery contained two offices, one no doubt being Janson's, and an entrance to the building. The last row showed very polar images. The left was a dark room, a basement maybe? There were a few machines, too hard to observe what their purpose was, the next was a hallway, long and wide with tens of doors. It looked like a dorm. The last security camera made my stomach tie into a tight knot.

It was a cafeteria. Not only was it a cafeteria, but it was a cafeteria filled with people. Some of which were my friends. I saw Minho, and Winston, Thomas, Jack, hell, even Aris. Fry, Teresa, Marcus –he wasn't exactly included in the 'friend' category— and last, but not least, standing beside my worst enemy, chatting so nonchalantly like they were having a conversation about the weather, was Newt.

I felt like I was going to be sick.

I could feel the bile creeping its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down.

Janson and Newt were engrossed in conversation, Janson using wild hand gesticulations like he usually did, and Newt smiling and bopping his head up and down.

I couldn't help but let my fingers rest on the workpad where his face was. This was the closest connection I had obtained since I 'died'.

They were alive, and they were living a fake life. The worst part was that they all thought they were safe! Little did they know they were in more of a predicament then the maze.

"Get off of her!" I heard the guard holler from outside, instantly snapping me out of my stupor.

I clicked the search bar at the bottom of the screen and typed in _The Swipe_.

A program popped up and I clicked it, expanding the file. Hundreds of names and formulas and pictures popped up. I had no freakin' idea how to work this. How would I do this in time?

I glanced between crevasses in the blinds to see that the fight was beginning to approach a close. I grumbled, beginning to stress. If I got in trouble now, it wouldn't have even been worth it. I just needed to say a word to Thomas. That was all. That was all I needed for the punishment to be worth it.

I clicked Thomas' name in the corner of the work pad and my heart beat with stimulation once I saw the hologram of his brain flash up, but I grimaced when I saw how bright and attention-grabbing it was. I had to be quicker.

I had to hide the squeal wanting to escape when I found the telepathy network box beside his name. I highlighted his name and highlighted my name and a message popped up.

 _"Are you sure you would like to connect the two?"_ Without even reading the full message, I pressed yes.

Instantaneously, an excruciating migraine started to form at the front of my brain. It was so painful, that I felt nauseous. I groaned, clutching my head as the buzzing noise I had contracted from the electroshock therapy started to elaborate. My brain throbbed with a toxic pain, and I clutched my head between my hands., bracing my skull between my hands.

As it started to lighten, I heard another noise manifest itself; like static during a bad connection.

" _Shuck, this hurts."_

That wasn't me. I didn't think that. I mean, yeah, it hurt, but I didn't recall saying that in my brain. The voice was deeper, gruffer. Was that Thomas? It sounded like Thomas!

Focusing all the power I had, I attempted to send a message, but I was shortly interrupted by two guards with stun-guns entering the room, while Rhea shot me an apologetic look in the foreground.

 _"Thomas!"_ I yelled in my brain, trying to grab his attention. _"Thomas!"_

It was silent, the buzzing noise starting to calm as the guards neared me. Everything seemed to slow as the chaos ensued. I locked eyes with the shorter guard, the one closest to me, and I tried to plead before he had the chance to press the tazer to my side, but it was too late. I felt the cold metal of the gun hit my back, making me go stiff, and I screamed in hurting as a painful bolt of power loped through my body. Naturally in response, tears started to pour out my eyes.

I heard Rhea scream in protest, and I watched as the others jolted up from their position. The bigger guard hurled me off the chair, coursing to shut down the workpad, and my convulsing body fell to the floor with a heavy smack. The smaller guard pressed the stun-gun to my side, and I winced when I felt the shock go through me again.

Right before I resulted to giving up I heard a voice and it made me accept my chastisement in a more content manner.

Inside my head, prior to the telepathic connection cutting off with a shrill buzz, I heard a sole word. There was a sharp gasp, then finally, _"Hello?"_

* * *

"I swear Minho," Thomas rubbed the nape of his neck as he jogged along, attempting to keep up with his quick friend's pace down the hallway. "It sounded like her voice."

"You sound like a shuckin' Crank," Minho shook his head as he looked back at his friend. "You didn't hear her. You probably just miss the shuckface so much you're starting to hear her voice. Trust me, Thomas."

"But the voice was so clear." He countered with hopeful eyes. He moved his hands to elaborate his case as he spoke. "It was like she was right beside me, talking to me.

"You think Florence came back from the dead?" He cocked a brow as he turned a corner down the hallway, heading to his room.

Thomas grumbled at his insensitive joke and gripped his friends arm with aggressive force to stop his fast pace before they entered earshot of Newt who was in their room. There were only a few people in the hallway. It was getting late and everyone was washing up before bed. "Can you just listen to me for one minute?"

"Look Thomas, I don't want to hear this klunk," He sighed, "I watched her die. I watched four bullets enter her body. I watched her bleed out in Newt's arms. She's dead, shank, and there's no changin' that."

Thomas sighed. "Wait," He grabbed Minho's bicep again when he tried to escape.

"What?" he spat with irritation.

"Uhh…" He licked his lips, "Think I should tell Newt?"

Before he could even finish their roommate's name, Minho cut him off with a heavy, "no," That hung in the air for a seemingly long time after that. "No," he repeated again, "He's just starting to look human again. If someone even mentions her name he shuts down. I don't want that happening if we can avoid it."

Thomas nodded with a disappointing sigh.

Minho's face softened when he saw the look of dismay on Thomas. Was he really that obvious? Showing his emotions on his face? He couldn't help but feel crushed when he thought of his dead best friend. Both of them. Chuck and Florence.

"Look," Minho sighed, "Just get some sleep, okay?" He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a revolting grimace. Minho trying to be nice was not his forte. "We'll talk about it more another time. They took quite a bit of blood out of you when they took tests today, maybe you're just overly exhausted and hearing things you wish we could hear."

Thomas nodded. It was probably just his own mind playing tricks on him.

They had been here for almost a week now, and today they had taken blood samples from all of them, and he had to admit, despite seeing all that blood in the maze, seeing blood extracted from his own body via medical supplies made him queasy. Minho was right, as per usual. She was dead, along with the rest of their friends, and there was no changing that.

"I wish I could've saved her, bud, I do." He shrugged, "Even if she was a traitor, she was family." Minho pivoted away from him, and Thomas thought he heard him murmur, _"If only I could've saved her again."_

Thomas sighed as he trudged to the washroom.

He wished he had never heard that fake voice, seemingly a replica of her melodious voice.

It was false hope, something he didn't enjoy.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for the reviews from ImABird27, Artemis's Daughter 01, magicarolina,Athio, antisocialashyy, Storylover00 and gms14! Sorry this chapter is so short, I'll try to make the next one longer. Thanks for the compliments guys, seriously. It makes me ecstatic and wanting to write more!**

 **R &R :)**


	7. Optimism

**Reminder: I do not own The Maze Runner Trilogy, it belongs to the God James Dashner. I only own Florence.**

* * *

Being hopeful was a concept I found difficult to endure.

How could I be hopeful when I was so clueless? My friends were stuck in a phony safe house looking happier than ever, despite their losses, but really, Janson could be preparing them for something even more dangerous and cynically, which I had no clue about.

Hope dangled on a thin thread in front of my face, flaunting its optimism. My brain was momentarily connected to Thomas', and miraculously I managed to say his name. When I heard the "Hello?" in response, I mentally jumped for joy –seeing as I was busy being electrocuted— but what if it was just a coincidence? What if he thought he imagined my voice? I didn't even want to think of that possibility. I just wanted to be with them.

Closing my eyes, I rolled over on the foam-lined floor.

I was in some sort of prison cell where they kept cranks for monitoring. The room had four walls, all made with two-way mirror's so they could see inside, but I couldn't see outside. There was a small sliding door, a high ceiling, and a giant mattress as a floor, which was actually quite snug. A black hole about an inch wide, was in the middle of the ceiling, peering down at me like a giant eye as it surveillanced my every move via recording device.

Something that I had continued to discover these past few weeks was that I didn't know WICKED as well as I thought I did. After I had been tazered the guards took word from a high power—assumingly Janson— to send me to the basement cell, which I never knew existed.

Rhea gave me a merciful look as the two guards dragged me down the hallway, my two legs towing in the back. Her and the others all shuffled to get off each other and gazed as they watched me near my failure.

She tried to mouth something to me but my eyes were coddled with tears, causing everything I saw to be slightly blurry or warped. After I'm released she would be the first person I spoke to. My biggest concern at the moment was her well-being, as well as the other cranks that had helped me fool the guards. Janson showed no mercy when it came to non-immunes. They needed them for research, though, so maybe he just gave them a stern warning not to associate with me and let them go free. Hopefully.

I blew a raspberry as I rolled over again on the mattress and faced one of the mirrors where the door was. Looking through the glass, knowing there was someone monitoring me on the otherside, I opened my mouth to speak. "Let me speak to Janson," I tried to bargain.

I had been asking for him the past three days. Three whole days I ahd been stuck in here. I was supposed to be in the Scorch by now, with the others, but no. He lied, as per usual. Now I was bored out of freaking mind waiting inside this hell hole that could make the sanest person in the world a psychopath. The only person I saw was the guard that had tazered me, who had brought food for me only twice a day as well as my daily pills.

I was so immensely furious with Janson. I would talk to him, hear him out, and then I would pounce on that shuck-head, despite the consequence.

How could someone be so cruel? How could someone have that little of a conscience? I'm surprised there wasn't steam shooting from my ears right now due to how lividly enraged I felt.

I wrapped my hair around my face, letting it curtain across my check bones and fall onto my chest as I sat up in a cross-legged position. I grabbed a handful of hair and started to pluck the dead ends of my brown mane.

"Let me goooo!" I howled an hour later. I was running out of tasks to do. I didn't want to think. I hated thinking. Thinking led to sad thoughts. "Please… Let me g—"

Like a prayer being answered, a significantly boisterous click of a lock emitted throughout the spacious room.

I jolted to my feet, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear as the door creaked open.

One foot stepped in, then the other, and the door shut behind the figure.

Janson.

I let out a silent snarl and glared as he moved towards me. I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked a brow as he stepped closer and closer.

"Hello, Florence," He greeted me with a smile, like we were old friends.

"Janson," I dipped my head.

"I heard you've been up to your usuall shenanigans again," He mentioned.

"You could say that," I shrugged my shoulders back.

He smirked, pausing once he was close enough to speak to me, but while also keeping a safe distance away from me. So he should. I was so enraged at his acts that I was ready to do anything to take him down. How was the chancellor okay with all of this?

"They've told me you've requested to speak with me." He gestured towards the two way mirror with both hands.

The hostility in the environment almost made me want to chuckle.

A small snort escaped my mouth when I spoke again. "Have been for three days,"

"So I heard," He nodded back. "I've been busy, as I'm sure you discovered. Moving back and forth between two buildings is difficult."

I blinked at him, waiting for him to continue as I straightened my stance to exhibit my enmity.

"Before we begin, I want to make it clear that I'm not ecstatic that you broke into my office and snooped around." His brows furrowed together.

That's when it clicked. He had no idea that I connected my brain to Thomas'. The guards must have unknowingly disconnected the telepathy network and assumed I was just looking through files for information on my friends. The corners of his lips quirked up in a sadistic matter. "I suppose you want answers?"

I shook my head and my arms dropped to my side as I prepared my speech I had thought over and over in my head for the past three days. "I don't give a shit about answers. I don't give a shit that I've been in here for three days, or that you're a fucked up person who kills cranks just to find a cure that we're no closer to getting, hell I don't even care that you're basically killing me with all these electroshock therapy and drugs, I just want what I've always wanted."

One of his brows lifted, as if to say _Which is?_

I bit my lip before answering. "To be with my friends."

His parted lips shut instantaneously and his grim smile widened. It widened and widened, showing teeth now, until he eventually started resembling the Cheshire cat. His mouth opened and he let out a boisterously cynical laugh. His head swung back and the chortling laughter never seized. It was a good thirty seconds of him continuing that and me staring at him with wide eyes until he stopped.

He trailed off with an 'ooooo…' and clutched his chest from laughing so hard.

"Care to tell me what the hell is so funny?"

"I just want to get something straight with you." He clapped his hands together and his lips formed a smile, "No matter what, I'm always one step ahead. WICKED always has a plan. For every step further you take in whatever you're trying to achieve, we're two, hell maybe even three steps ahead of that."

My lips parted and I shifted my posture, shrugging off the belittled feeling that started to manifest from his ultimatum. "Why are you telling me that? Is that some kind of threat?"

"It's whatever you make of it," he explained vaguely as the smile disappeared. "So you're aware of my miscommunication to you,"

"Your lies," I interrupted him.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes. "They're at the safehouse. They're just there so we can study them. There's so many of them, Group A and Group B, and it's going to take a few weeks until we can fully take all the data from the maze from them."

I held up a finger, "First of all: Safe house? It's another HQ. Which I also had no idea about. Secondly, what're you going to do with them after?"

His eyes narrowed as he locked his irises with mine. "Let them go, let them stay, whatever they want."

I made a face, "What about the rest of the trials?"

He licked his lips, his eyes moving to the floor. "I don't know."

"What? What are you talking about? You need them for the cure."

"Yeah…" He shrugged.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why are you being so vague?" I could feel my face heat up.

He shrugged.

"Stop that. Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Lying!" I screamed at him, making him jump. "Stop freaking lying. This is all bogus. You're lying. This is the second trial, they think they're free but they're not. You may be telling the truth about collecting data but I think you have a plan. I don't know what it is but I don't like it. They're already in the trials, they just don't know it yet. Am I right?"

He shrugged, and that's when I tried the hardest not to beat the living crap out of him.

"They're going to find out, and you're going to force them into the scorch."

Again, a shrug, "The Safe House is good for them. Their brain patterns are improving; it actually is a perfect environment to study them in. They're all still pretty distraught over you and Chuck, Thomas and Newt especially. Maybe we'll keep them there for a little while until we 'force them into the Scorch'" He finger quoted the words and mimicked my voice.

I blew out a furious breath through my nostrils and clenched my fists so tightly I thought I was going to draw blood from my palms.

"Please," I tried to plead through my broken voice as I scowled at him, "Just let me go, let me see them."

His eyes rolled upward in a quizzical matter as one of his hands femininely perked out, one arm folded underneath. "No can do." His arms dropped to his side. "Not yet."

Not yet?

As if he had just revealed the big climax of a plot line in a TV show, he stiffened, changing the subject. "Why do you care about them so much anyways?" He began, "What makes them so different? Why would you choose them over us? Hell, you don't even know half of them. They could all be murders."

"I could be a murderer for all I know!" I stabbed my hand in my chest, "I don't know what's real, and what's not anymore. And you know what? I've decided not to freaking care. All that matters is that we've got each other, but you took that away from me. They're so much bloody lying and I can't shucking take it anymore!" I screamed, moving my hands to my hair and tugging it in frustration.

He snorted quietly.

"What?" I loosened my grip on my hair.

"You sound just like him." He folded his arms across his chest again and dipped his head at me.

"Like whom?" Confusion swept over me as he lagged a response.

"Newt."

The words came out of his mouth, and I felt like I was being possessed. A flourished wave of fury washed over me and I couldn't control what happened next. The images of Newt chatting to Janson on the computer screen burned in my mind, the thought of him believing anything that came out of his mouth made me want to punch someone.

I lunged forward, shoving Janson's square body in the center of his chest. He inhaled loudly with a whoosh as I knocked the wind out of him and his body went sailing toward the –sadly— padded floor.

He gasped for another breath as I kneeled down to his height. I raised a shaky fist in the air and it came crashing down on his right eye. Not where I had hoped for, but it'd have to do. I did another one, a little lower than the first, and a deafening smack rang through my ears. When he regained the ability to respire, he shoved me off of him and stood, grabbing my fragile wrists between his brawn hands.

The door swing open, hitting the mirror on the other side, and I saw two guards in the hallway, preparing to take me down, or at the very least bring Janson out safely.

"No." he surprised me. He turned to them, still holding my wrists as he leaned over and shook his head. He wagged his finger back and forth.

Even the guards looked mystified.

He turned back to me and grinned. He looked like something out of a horror movie. I hadn't noticed the leaky faucet of red coming from one of his nostrils until now. It bled into his mouth, staining his teeth red, causing shivers to go down my back when he beamed at me.

Using all the strength I had, I tried to writhe out of his constricting grip.

His grip tightened, and I winced. It tightened even more, no doubt causing immediate bruising, and I shrieked from the excruciating tenderness. He pulled me along, via my wrists, towards the middle of the room and I let out whimpers as he towed me. My hands felt like they were going to dislocate from my wrists.

I grunted when he pulled me towards him, gritting my teeth to hide the cry I wanted to release. I couldn't stand, but we were close enough to each other for him to hit me.

He released me with one hand, and raised it in the air.

From there on, it was slow motion. His fist came floating closer and closer towards the surface of my face, and I tried to shield myself with one hand as best as possible, but it did no justice. His fist hit me in the eye, similar to the spot I hit him and I grunted again, my teeth grinding against each other.

It reminded me a bit like a car crash. The adrenalin, the force of the hits, it's like flying through the air. I felt like I couldn't control myself. I couldn't do anything but sit there and take the beat. Repeated strike after strike and with each wallop followed a twinge of pain. Each nerve in me seemed to blast out electric shocks, my body shaking when his fist connected with my chin, cheek, eye… The blood from the cut on my right eyebrow clouded my vision in one eye, making me see red. Janson looked more like the devil then I had ever depicted him as.

There were so many shrieks, so many cries, and so many sobs, all pending from me. I hadn't realized I was releasing them until he finally stopped and my whimpering form crumpled to the ground.

The guards even had looks of astonishment when he finally released me. He wiped his bloody nose with the sleeve of his white coat and panted, straightening himself.

I touched my swollen face, as if that was any aid to the raw throbbing of my cranium.

He lifted his arm, and at first I thought he was going to hit me again, but instead he pointed one single finger towards the open door, all while still peering down at my crushed form.

My eyes darted from him to the door and back to him as I scooted backwards on my behind. My hands touched a wet spot in the cushioned floor where my blood had painted the foam, saturating the white with my contrastingly crimson blood.

"Go." He mandated, pointing towards the door.

"W-What?" I stuttered, my voice croaking. I let out a small cough and used the strength I had left to stand up.

"Go!" he said louder this time, making me jump.

I wiped the blood from my nose and stood erect completely. I shuffled to move around him, scrutinizing him in case he moved again. I had never been so frightened of someone in my life.

Once I had moved past him, I heard him shuffle to turn towards me. "Go to your room." He told me, like a parent telling off their kid for doing something idiotic. "See Alistair first, and then go to bed."

I nodded, turning away from him.

"I'm letting you go for a reason, Naomi."

I paused when I heard him say my real name. Biting my lip, I shivered, and continued my exit.

I squeezed past the two guards, who gave me looks of concern, pity almost, and shifted into a sprint once I exited the room. There was a long hallway, twists and turns, until I finally reached an elevator and went one floor up.

The elevator music was disgustingly cheerful, making me grimace. I tried to discount the pulsating pain in my face, as well as the swelling of my eye, blocking my vision partially, but it was hard not to when I tumbled out of the elevator and thumped my shoulder on the curve of a divider from lack of vision.

"Alistair?" I dubbed out, bearing towards his sector of the crank ward. I never in a million years thought I'd be calling his name for aid. Janson sent me to him anyways, but I knew Alistair of all people would help clean the wounds hygienically.

"Florence?" I heeded his voice from the end of the hallway, and a shadow formed on the floor, morphing as he took steps closer to the doorframe.

I disregarded the howls and screams from the cranks as I passed by a holding district for those 'past the gone' and shuffled towards his voice. I slowed to a stop when I entered the door, face to face with him, and stared up at him, as preeminent as I possibly could.

"What. The. Hell…" That was his response. His jaw went slack and his eyes went bug-like. "God, and I thought you were ugly before."

I shoved him in the chest and rolled my eyes, moving past him.

"What the hell happened to you?" He asked from behind.

"I went at Janson and this was my punishment," I spun around to face him again and I gesticulated towards my face.

"God…" He exhaled, scratching his head.

"Yeah," I tried to mumble through my swollen bottom lip. It gave me a small lisp. I could taste the rustiness of my own blood as the split on my lip leaked into my mouth.

"Sit down," He ordered. "I'll get this cleaned up before we start," He pointed to his swivel chair.

I sighed, already anticipating what he was going to do. Electroshock Therapy, that's why Janson sent me to him. Maybe if I obeyed he would let me go. Hopefully. That was all I had to cling on to; hope. Optimism was not one of best qualities though.

What seemed like hours later, but in realism was only ten or fifteen minutes, he had finally freshened my scathed face. I had stitches above my brow, close to the spot I had them back in the glade when Jeff gave me them, and he put steri-strip over a cut in my chin. My lip throbbed from the antiseptic fluid he had cleaned it with, and my eye ached. He tossed me a frozen pillow to rest over my eye while we waited to start, and he prescribed me to take eye drops everyday in order for it to heal faster.

He inserted the Bliss into my neck a few minutes later, and that seemed more painful then everything, mostly because I hated the sensation of the spine of a needle stabbing my neck.

"Ready?" he asked me, after graciously allowing me to respite for a while.

I bit my fat, blue lip.

"I'm gonna have to take that as a yes," He shrugged.

I groaned.

I narrowed my eyes, analyzing his motives when he leaned two hands towards me and offered to help me up from the bed. He tipped his head towards his hands again, shaking them in front of my face when I hesitated to grab them.

Alistair was never gracious or helpful towards me, only cruel or sarcastically douche-like.

He exhaled noisily and forcefully grabbed my hands to lift me from the seat. I let out a diminutive squeal when he towed me to a stand, my mind flashing back to the image of Janson beating the living crap out of me. Well, that vision, and the fact that my wrists were ridiculously bruised and aching.

"Sorry," He apologized, lifting his hands in the air when he realized that he had placed his hands on the purple and bluest part of my arms.

I made a wincing face, my eyes scrunching up, and I moved past him, my shoulder bumping his as I exited the room. He pursued after me as I piloted the way to the ECT room.

I paused in the doorway when I saw that the room was dark, no one but my lonesome body occupying it.

"Where's everybody else?" I asked. I was never alone.

Avoiding my piercing gaze, Alistair slid past me and flicked the light switch, letting the fluorescent lights buzz on. Again, I recoiled; the buzzing murmur in my ears from before deciding to make another appearance.

"Janson told me just you for this session." He explained as he waved me over to one of the machines.

I took leisure steps towards him. I dropped the pillow of ice by his feet and gave him one last look before he pressed the button to strap me in.

"Gah!" I shrieked when the five connecting plugs made a small, needle like incision to connect themselves to my head. I sucked in a breath when the machine made a loud murmur, gradually getting louder and louder with each passing second.

Alistair looked pained. You know when someone forced you to do something you didn't want to do? Like play a prank on one of your friends, and then you saw the look on your friends face when they gave you a look of betrayal, and you just stared back, giving them an uncomfortable glance while also trying to avoid their eyes; that was the look Alistair had.

He didn't observe me like he usually did when my body quaked with every pulse of electricity. He only glanced over once during the entire ten minutes of our session, and that was when I let out an audible, ear-piercing screech when it felt un-bearable.

"Okay, okay…" He pressed a button, the machine slowly turning off. "I think you've had enough."

I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes as the machine lowered me down to the ground and releasing my head from the spikes.

An unexpected ripple of fatigue vibrated through me, and suddenly, it seemed near impossible to hold up my own body weight.

My body swayed, and my vision blurred, and I didn't even think about objecting when Alistair hooked his arms underneath me.

I moaned loudly when he lifted me up, wedding-style and instituted to transmit me somewhere other than here.

Why was he helping me all of a sudden?

In this particular moment I didn't have a lot of time to think his questioning motives through thoroughly, so instead I let my eyelids flutter to a close, and I allowed the welcoming presence of fatigue, despite being asleep for so long the past three days.

* * *

" _DUDE!"_

"AH!" I gasped, jolting out of my bed and falling on to the floor. My face landed on the pedicured toenails of one of my closest friend's feet. "What the…" I murmured, "How do you have painted toenails?" My vision had a hard time focusing on the red curls and the full lips as well as the round face as I peered up at her. I remained blinking up at her, while my arms rested in a push-up lift

"What?!" She screamed, her arms gesturing violently at me before windmiling around, "You're seriously asking me that right now?!" In one swift movement, she reached down to my height, lifted me up with the little strength she had, and placed me back on the bed. "What the hell happened to your face?" She folded her arms across her chest, giving me a discerning look like a mom who just saw her firstborn child get into a fight. "And where have you been the past…" she glanced down at her watch, her furious demeanor vanishing for a second, then scowled at me again, "— four days?"

"No one told you?" I narrowed my eyes at her, then scowled off over her shoulder in the distance.

"No! No one told me!" She shrieked, her usually quiet voice breaking, "All I saw was you getting dragged off by the guards, while more came down the hallway and swarmed us."

My bottom lip jutted out as I scrutinized her rage-sealed face, "Well, what did they do to you?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes in defeat. She knew I wanted answers first, and I wouldn't tell her anything until she spoke up. She grumbled and sat down in the white chair and positioned it to face me. "A man and a women came running down the hallway, and they were using some walkie talkie thingy," Her hands made wild gestures as she talked, "Anyways as soon as they approached us they hushed up and basically told us to scram. As soon as I turned to leave the woman grabbed my arm and started asking me all these questions—"

"What kind of questions?" I pushed, leaning my elbows on my knees as I moved closer to her.

She widened her eyes in frustration. "I'm getting there, jeez." She let out a barely audible sigh. "She asked me all the information I knew about WICKED, if you told me anything, if I had heard anything about the trials..."

"Well," I paused, my lips smacking together, "What did you say?"

Her lips pursed together and she shook her head at me, her eyelashes batting, "You have no patience, do you?"

I exhaled perceptibly for her to pick up my frustration. I mean, yeah, she was right, but I wasn't going to admit that.

"I told them that I had no idea what she was talking about, and—"

"And?"

Her eyes bulged wider then I had ever seen, "Do you want me to slap you?" she rased a hand in the air, "Because I swear to god I will—"

"Just keep talking!"

"Agh!" She groaned, "Long story short: She knew I was lying and sent me to my room and locked it. I was pretty confused for a while, and frankly, I was worried about you."

"Aww you do have a heart." I touched my chest right above where my heart would be and pretended to wipe a tear.

"Shut up." She caviled. She flipped her mane over her shoulder before continuing. "I went to sleep, Janson woke me up the next morning. He was just sitting in the chair, facing my bad, and he locked the door, which if you ask me is pretty freakin' creepy…" She drawled out.

My eyes fell into thin slits, while my brows drooped lower into a scowl. She sent me a mimicry glare back before persisting. "He started accusing you of telling me things. I tried to deny it but he made some threats and figured it out. I didn't think it was such a big deal for you to tell me all this stuff about trials, and mazes, and boys and what not."

I bit my lip.

"He told me he didn't want me associating with you, but he said that he couldn't stop me if I really wanted to. He started saying that you were dangerous and cruel, that you lie, and that's why you were all lonely on the first day I arrived, you isolated yourself, or rather, people isolated you."

"I was not lonely!" I countered, ignoring all the other comments.

She shot me a look as if to say _really?_

"What?!"

"Florence," She sighed deeply, "You were like a little lost puppy. You had the big doe brown eyes, and the sullen posture, and your hair was all lifeless and un-voluminous." She clawed at her scalp.

"Firstly," I held up a single finger, raising my brows, "How does someone have a sullen posture? That doesn't make sense." I held up a second finger, "Secondly, my hair was fine. You gave me some tips on how to brush differently and told me to do scalp massages; that had nothing to do with me being all sad!"

She giggled, and then her voice got more serious. "After that he started opening up more. He told me about the trials, and how they planned to put you in the maze but you didn't know. Then he said that you made a mistake…" Her eyes clicked over to mine from the corner of her eyes, and once our pupils locked, her vision darted to the floor.

"Proceed…" I urged her, waiting for her prolongation.

"Y-You told me that you weren't in love with Thomas, and that's why they were pissed with you." Her hands locked and unlocked, showing her nerves.

"Yeah…" I drawled.

"You failed to mention the part where you fell in love with someone else."

At that moment, we exchanged places. She was no longer the anxious, belittled one. I took her place and she was staring at me like a hawk, with her laser like gaze piercing through me.

I gave a nervous laugh. "Ha-ha… did I?"

"Yeah," I could see her jerk her head up and down in my peripheral, "Yeah you kinda did."

I let out a long sigh, and I leaned forward on my knees. I rubbed the nape of my neck, massaging it as I continued to exhale. There was a long pause filled with awkward tension and a wavy environment before I spoke. "I wasn't in love with him…" I whispered.

She raised her brows, "Is that why you get all weird when we talk about the trials? Or anything even remotely related to something involving him?"

I remained deadpanned. "I hardly even knew him."

"You hardly even know yourself…" she disputed.

She made a quality point.

"Look, whatever his name is—"

"Newt," I cut off.

"Newt." She said to herself, making a face, "Huh. Funny name."

"Yeah…" I exhaled, thinking back to that time I ahd made fun of him for having a name of an amphibious creature. "It's after Isaac Newton. They name everyone after smart people or something, I don't know."

"Hmm." her lips pressed into a tight line, "As I was saying, **Newt** ," She emphasized, "Doesn't really know anything about himself either, I'm sure. Besides the two years in the glade."

Janson must have told her that.

"—So if you two care about each other enough, it'll work out, even if this is some star-crossed lovers crap."

"He thinks I'm dead…" I said.

"Yeah, but something tells me that it won't be like that for long. I'm sure you'll find a way to each other, one way or another, but either way, Janson is using Newt as a weakness for you. I could tell just by the way he was talking about it. You can't let him get in your head about that stuff."

I gestured to my face, making spherical motions with my index finger. "That's exactly what happened."

Her eyes widened.

I sighed, knowing it was my turn for the long story. "They sent me to some sort of prison cell room. There were two-way mirrors for walls and a mattress as a floor. It was weird, and excruciatingly boring. I only received food and pills twice a day, until the third day. I had been asking for Janson often and he finally made an appearance. He started pushing my buttons and I got annoyed and punched him. That's how this happened…" My voice was barely a whisper at the end.

I could still envision the deafening smacks as his fist connected with my face. I scrunched my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Shit…" Was all she could respond with.

It seemed everyone was astonished at Janson's actions lately.

"He freed me after that, and then said 'I'm letting you go for a reason, Naomi.' And then told me to see Alistair. Hours of fixing my face and then electroshock therapy later, here I am." I smacked my lips together and waved over my body with my right hand.

Her face lit up, and she pointed a finger at me. "You know, during the Sun Flares a group of survivors taught me for four years how to survive in case I was ever alone. They were in the army. Before that, they worked at a school for self defense."

"You're kidding me…" This was my opportunity, "Are they still alive? Are they here with you?"

"What?" She shook her head, "No they ended up splitting apart from us when the group got into a big fight about the safest path to travel."

"Well who am I going to get to teach me that? I need to learn to fight back. Maybe if I wasn't so helpless, I could escape and actually start planning to take action."

"Hello!" She squealed, and waved an arm to herself, "Me! I'm an excellent teacher."

"Eh…" I made a disgusted face.

"Shut up."

I smirked.

"Take it or leave it, girl. There's a gym on this floor that's never in use anyways, I'm sure Janson wouldn't kill us if we used it."

I snorted, "Debatable."

"Right…" She said, avoiding looking at my face again. "Well what do you say?"

I beamed at her, showing my teeth. "Hell yeah,"

She clapped her hands, "Good. Let's get some breakfast and then start training." She held her hand towards me and waged her fingers, "Come on,"

I grabbed her hand with a hopeful smile and we jogged down the hallway.

Maybe this was the first time I had a chance. If I practiced hard enough and worked at it, I could get good and not feel so weak all the time. Maybe I could start planning an escape. Rhea was good at planning. Maybe she could come with me.

One step back, but two steps forward to seeing him again. Seeing Newt.

The hole in my chest didn't ache as much as it used to; but maybe that's because it phased into more of a numbing sensation about whenever I thought of him. I missed him more than words could describe. Seeing his face on the monitor in Janson's office was more of a setback then a boost. I just wanted to hear his voice. I wanted to see his face. I wanted him to at least know that I was alive.

Nothing good came out of WICKED, besides him, and all my other friends; which was why I had to work so tremendously hard in building a plan to escape and strengthening my weaknesses. If I had the resources, the skill, and the potency to, then maybe it was feasible. In the wise words of Thomas before we endured in the task of surviving a swarm of grievers, 'Get out, or die trying.'

Making an appearance for the better, hope returned, and I couldn't help but feel the least bit of contentment.

* * *

 **A/N: I apologize for the delay of this chapter! I stayed up and worked hard on this, so sorry if it's unedited and crappy. Thanks for the reviews from ImABird27, guest, Rachelqueen, Athio, Antisocialashyy, Bad Dancer, knarl, and InvisibleSoul4. You guys are seriously SOOO awesome. I wouldn't write this fic if I didn't get awesome reviews from people like you!**

 **I promise more Newt in the next chapter, and I'll give you a little teaser: They will be partially reunited soon-ish; so bear with me. Let me know if there's anything you wanna see or if you wish something would happen, maybe I'll consider it!**

 **Thanks again guys :)**


	8. The Bliss

**A reminder: I do not own The Maze Runner trilogy.**

* * *

 _Newt wandered down the halls of the maze, his mind cascading with waves of confusion as he turned each corner. All was silent, beside the uniform steps of his own trudging feet. Or was that is heartbeat? He didn't know. Shaking his head, he turned left._

 _His hands lightly grazed across the rough concrete of the walls as he made each turn, mentally making notes to remember each way he went. He reached a 'T' in the maze, and his head zapped from elft to right, trying to make the right decision where to go._

 _It dawned on him seconds later that there should be other sounds coming from the labyrinth. The maze should be changing, or the grievers should be screaming, but all was silent._

 _There weren't even any bugs chirping in the distance, just complete and utter silence._

 _His feet skidded along the floor as he stopped to look around._

 _Behind him, the maze dissipated into a blackness. There was no floor, or walls, just a whole lot of nothingness, like his trail was being sucked into a black hole._

 _He took another step forward, his eyes peering over his shoulder, and the darkness ate up a foot of the path._

 _His lips parted as he stared behind him, his muddled thoughts still not gluing together._

 _His eyes dropped to the floor, and he decided to ignore the dissolving pathway behind him and focus on the steps he took forward, to finding a way out._

 _Just as his foot lifted to take another stride, he stopped._

 _He lowered it to the ground and froze when he saw something move in front of him. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as he prepared himself to look at the dark figure that had manifested itself ahead of him._

 _His breathing hitched, and he raised his head._

 _He moved the hair out of his eyes and gulped when his eyes met the manifestation._

 _It was Florence._

 _In an instinct response, he stepped towards her, but she recoiled back. She was shaking, quaking like they were in a snow storm, and her hands were clutched tightly to her chest. She was here, but mentally, she seemed like she was in another world._

 _Her eyes avoided his, and her body avoided his aid._

 _Her hair fell in front of her face in thin clusters, and her face was swollen from crying. Her cheeks were flushed, but her skin was a sickly wan. Her body was thinner, slender. The warm brown had faded from her eyes, in its place was a bleak shade of russet._

 _"Flor—"_

 _She gasped, sharply, and her eyes finally met his. She hitched her breathing and remained bug-eyed at him, like she had never noticed her was there._

 _He didn't know what to say, what to do, so he just stared at her. She was acting like a mental patient, hell, she even looked like one. All he wanted to do was console the dream-state Florence, but she reacted like a petrified little mouse with every mild movement he created._

 _"Hey…" He tried in a softer tone, his hands moving towards her with such calm and tranquility he couldn't startle a deer._

 _This time, thankfully, she didn't move; but she did something inferior, more perplexing. She started to gasp. It wasn't gasping like she was frightened and her breathing was sharp, it was full on gulp full's of oxygen, like she was drowning._

 ** _BANG BANG BANG BANG._**

 _Four shots ripping through the air, one after the other, with only a small gap between the last two. He ducked, shielding his ear from the noise that came from behind him._

 _When the pressure in the air faded, following with a deafening silence, Newt raised his head._

 _Her hands were pressed firmly to her wounds, and her mouth hung open, expressing her astonishment. Blood started to drip from her lip, and it hung over her chin until finally; gravity got the best of it and it plunged to a puddle on the floor. It painted the liquid a clear red, and it rippled with defeat._

 _Newt's lip quivered, and he couldn't help but let the wracking sobs escape from his chest._

 _He could still hear the ear-piercing rattle of the gun going off, echoing in victory of it's eradicate. She sputtered out mouthfuls of blood, until finally she stumbled backwards._

 _He jerked up to go help her, but something stopped him._

 _Before her body had the time to fall backwards into the 'T' corridor of the maze, he heard a howl._

 _In one swift motion, a griever came charging down the corridor. Its metallic appendages stabbed her like a piece of beef on a skewer, and shot off in the other direction._

 _"NOOOO!" He bellowed, his screams ricocheting off the walls like crazed laughter. He lugged his feet, pushing himself to go save her, but it was like he was in water, or mud. His feet trudged in the thick air, and he grunted and groaned as he tried to travel forward. He felt a zap of pain shoot up his bad leg, but he disregarded the feeling. When he made it to the 'T', he looked left, in the direction of their fleet._

 _All that was left was a daunting trail of blood, dark and crimson, fading off into the corridor. He let out a small whimper, and leisurely turned his head to the right._

 _He wished he hadn't._

 _A griever charged at him like a bull. Newt was the matador, and the griever was stampeding towards him like he was a muleta._

 _He covered his hands with his face, as if that would relieve any oncoming pain, and the last sound he heard was that of a shrieking griever_

Newt jolted from his slumber, a slight gasp escaping his lips, but it was quickly replaced with a loud grunt as the front of his head smacked a wooden beam above him.

Why had he thought it was a good idea to let Thomas take the top bunk?

He heard a snicker beside him, and he sent a scowl at Minho, who was sitting with his legs swung over the side of his bed, his hands aiding to help his feet into the sneakers they so graciously gifted him.

"Slim it," He barked, before Minho could open his mouth.

Minho rolled his eyes, and stood up from the bed. He jumped up and down to readjust his clothing, and then exited the room without saying a word.

Newt groaned as he stretched out his stiff muscles in front of him. His leg was bothering him today, more so then any other day, and he thought that was kind of a coincidence considering how painfully vivid it had felt in the dream.

He rubbed the nape of his neck, massaging it with his hands as he thought over the nightmare. It was exceedingly cruel for his brain to force him to endure the condition of her dying once again.

He blew out a raspberry, trying to shake the reverie off, and he jumped up from his bed.

Thomas was still sounding asleep, his light snore filling the silence in the room, and his mouth hung open as drool saturated his pillow. He snorted before changing into a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

He exited their dorm room and picked up a light jog as he walked to the cafeteria. He dipped his head towards some of familiar faces that were starting to grow on him, and he ignored the hisses of the Cranks that passed by. None of them really associated with them, nor did the cranks attempt to talk to the immune.

It was too dangerous, and in reality, any friendship made between the two star-crossed beings were doomed to end in disaster.

Newt grabbed a tray of food and took a spot beside Fry and Minho. Marcus and Winston sat across from him, while Aris sat alone in the corner of the cafeteria, like he usually did.

Aris wasn't much of a talker. He wasn't socially intuitive, and they had attempted to talk to him the first few days they were here, but he shut down a lot of the conversations they had. They still talked to the boy, but he seemed to prefer to be left alone with his own thoughts while eating.

For the most part, they ate in silence. Minho had a bowl of cereal, as well as Fry, but Winston had toast, while Newt opted for a bowl of fruit to nibble on.

They all chatted about their plans for the day. Minho and Fry wanted to go to the gym on the other side of the building. They had this obsession with one-upping each other with weights. Winston was going with one of the employees to the garage on the upper floor to fix truck. Winston had a new fascination with fixing things, which was the exact opposite of his old job, being a slicer, which was to kill things—terminate them.

Newt, on the other hand, had no shuckin' idea what he was going to do today.

"Hey guys," Thomas interrupted Fry and Minho's back and forth banter by sitting down between the two. He placed his empty tray on the table, with only a glass of water, and sighed.

"What's the buggin' matter with ya, Tommy?" Newt asked, snickering at the ashen boy, who sighed like he had just lost a bet. "You look like you just saw a griever."

"I did!" He widened his eyes, "How did you know?" He exhaled loudly as he ran a hand through his short but mop-like hair. "Shuck, I hate how vivid dreams can be."

Newt cocked his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but someone else spoke first. "Well this conversation's boring me," Fry stood up with his bowl of food, "I'm going to see if the cook needs any help cleaning up."

"I'll help," Winston jolted from his seat and hopped off the bench to trail behind Frypan. Minho slid over to make more room for Thomas and him.

"Wait, what'd you say?" Newt's head tilted as he stared comprehensively at the boy in front of him.

"Hmm?" Thomas gurgled through a mouthful of water, "Me?"

"Did anyone else talk, Slinthead?" Minho smacked Thomas on the back of the head.

"Ow.." He grumbled, rubbing his crown. "It's nothing," He turned to night, "I just had a weird dream, is all. You know, grievers and all that." He shivered as his eyes coldly remained on the steel surface of the table.

"Hmm," Newt's lips tightened and his eyes fell into thin slits, "I had a dream about grievers too last night."

Thomas shot Newt a quizzical look; his head bopping back to show he was taken aback slightly. "What happened in it?"

Newt readjusted himself in the cafeteria seat, leaning closer to his friends as if his dream was a secret exploitation. "I was in the maze, it was dark. Something was eating up the path behind me, like a black hole, but it wasn't in a hurry or nothin'." He swallowed as he struggled to divulge the next part of the reverie, "Florence was there, and she looked like she just rose from the grave. A griever came at her and took off. I went to go grab her, I turned around and when I turned around—"

"A griever came at you." Thomas finished for him.

Newt went rigid. "Yes."

"I had the exact same dream." Thomas' face dropped as he deadpanned. "The exact same dream,"

"Hmm," was all Newt could reply with, as his eyes fell downcast.

There was unnerving silence as they all looked to the floor, or to the table, or their food; anywhere but each other's eyes.

"Huh," Minho huffed, "So what? You had the same shuckin' dream, probably just a coincidence." Minho chewed obnoxiously loud on a mouthful of cheerios as he lifted his foot to rest on the bench they sat on, "Why do you look so weird Thomas?" He swallowed, "I mean, you normally look weird, but you seem weirder than usual."

Contradictory to what Newt thought, Thomas didn't retaliate. Instead, he vacantly brooded by himself, seeming preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Both Minho and Newt's eyes were fixed on Thomas' ominous stature. "What's wrong Tommy?"

Thomas blinked a few times, then his eyes shot up to Newt. "Don't you think that's weird?!" he blurted out louder than they had all expected

"Well…" Newt shrugged, "Yeah, but like Minho said, probably just a weird buggin' coincidence."

Thomas ran a thumbnail along his bottom lip as he looked away again. EH took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again, "Do you think they're still controlling us?"

Newt rolled his eyes at the same time Minho groaned. "Don't start with that klunk again." He sighed, "Why don't you trust that we're actually safe?"

"I'm..." he paused, scavenging his inner vocabulary for the right word, "optimistic."

"Thomas…" Minho scowled at him.

"What?!" Thomas threw his hands wildly in the air, "I have trust issues; sue me. All I'm saying is we should be careful, keep a close eye on things. Maybe I'm overreacting but—"

"Definitely overreacting," Minho suspended.

" **But** ," Thomas continued with a tone of frustration, "I definitely think we should keep an open eye, snoop a little bit; ask a few questions…"

Neither Minho nor Newt seemed to agree. They had gone their whole life walking blind, clueless of everything and everyone, why would it make a difference to figure out things now? Push and irritate the people who had saved them? They had all the time in the world for that. They wanted to settle down first; get comfortable. The only thing Newt was curious about was the world outside. That and why it was truly necessary to kill Florence. He still held a grudge for the murder, and he probably always would, just as Thomas would, but he was trying to find the appropriate time to mention it to the director.

"Look—" Thomas started, speaking quieter as he looked to Newt, "Remember what she said?" Thomas bit his lip. Newt could already feel the heat rise to his cheeks as he grew irritated, "Remember? She said anything we walked into could a be a trap."

"How could she have known what we were walking into after we were saved?" Minho countered with a raised brow.

"I-uh," Thomas stuttered, and then sighed, continuing his patter, "I don't know. But she was being controlled. I thing Gally was being controlled too. Did you see the look in his eyes?" He raised two fingers to his own eyes, "Like there was some sort of internal dilemma."

"How do you know she was for sure being controlled?" Minho asked. " I mean, that's just what she told us right before she died, but that could've been a last chance at forgiveness sort of thing. "

Newt flinched.

Thomas, getting more invested into the topic, leaned forward. "She told me before; in the maze."

Like a bomb had been dropped, they all fell silent.

"You better be kidding." Minho growled cholericly.

"No," He said proudly, "No I'm not. And I trust that she was telling the truth, because when I tried to talk to you guys about it, they wouldn't allow me."

"What do you bloody mean they wouldn't allow you?" Newt grumbled.

"I mean I physically couldn't. It's like I forgot how to speak. I would get a splitting headache and my tongue would stop moving," he exclaimed.

Newt's eyes sank to the floor, once again.

"What, Newt?" Thomas asked. HE could feel both of their eyes fixed on him. "Newt—"

"She tried to tell me…" His eyes darted frantically over the surface of the table, "In the maze, she tried to tell me. Multiple times. She always complained of headaches, and when the doors wouldn't close she said she needed to tell me something, but she couldn't. I was too busy trying to find weapons." Newt slammed his clenched fists against the steel surface of the cafeteria table, startling the other two. "Why'd you think it was a good idea to wait till now to tell us?"

Thomas shot him and Minho an naive look. "I-uh, well I didn't really know if you guys believed her." He gulped, "I mean, we haven't really talked about her, or the others, since it happened. We haven't settled down enough to have a chance to discuss this."

"Why was she only able to tell you?" Minho asked, "Why couldn't she tell us?"

Thomas shook his head, "I don't know." He shrugged, "We never figured out that far."

Minho exhaled deeply.

"Think she was telling the truth then? About being controlled? About her memories?" Newt questioned.

Thomas shrugged, "I don't know. We're in the same place, me telling you guys that she told me that stuff doesn't change anything. I knew her just as well as you did. Maybe she did betray us, maybe she was a spy; I have no idea. All I know is that during the Changing, I had visions of all of us, some of them included her. I saw her on a hospital bed; she was having some kind of surgery. I think she was getting the Swipe inserted into her, but she told me she had her memory, which doesn't make sense. Her name wasn't real, but she was so sure that it was. When I told her it was fake, just like the rest of ours, she didn't believe me, but she looked just as damn scared as the rest of us." He stabbed a finger on the table for emphasis.

They all fell silent, their minds whirling with thoughts of their dead friend.

"So there are two possibilities: Either she was a spy and just a really good actor… Or your theories are true." Minho dipped his head towards Thomas.

"Does it matter?" Newt tensed, "I mean, she's dead," He reminded them morbidly. "Tommy's right. Him telling us that doesn't change a buggin' thing. We have no way of knowing. I know what you're trying to do, Thomas, your mentioning her to soften us up, to get us to all wary and stuff like you."

Thomas' jaw clenched as his eyes fell.

"We're not in danger, okay? You don't know that," Newt grumbled, his teeth grinding against each other.

"How can you be so sure?" he squabbled.

"I can't," Newt agreed, "You're right. But I'd rather not piss off the people who are keeping us alive with food and a place to stay. Just give us a while, let us settle in, and don't jump to conclusions. Then we'll ask questions."

Thomas huffed, sliding back in his seat.

"Okay?" Newt repeated, brows raised.

"Okay," Thomas agreed.

Although, Newt could tell by the look on his friends face he truly didn't agree to the circumstances.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent loitering around. Newt spent a little while in the kitchen with Fry around lunch time, helping him and the chef, Curtis his name was, preparing sandwiches. He didn't mind it all that much, but he wished he had the chance to pick his own vegetables. Newt pondered about the workings of this place. There must have been more to it, more rooms he didn't know about, how else would they be able to obtain all this colorful fruit and veggies?

Maybe they had some sort of underground garden, or maybe they got it shipped to them via helicopter from someplace, well, moister.

Newt shook his head, making his train of thoughts come to an end.

His feed hung over the edge of a medical bed in one of the rooms down the right wing of the building, where they initiated surgery and aided to those who seeked help. He had only been down this wing of the building once, and that was to take blood tests.

Today, he didn't know what he was here for, all he knew was that one of the girls from Group B, Sonya he think her name was, told him that he needed to go to this room when he was done eating the sandwiches they had made.

He sighed of boredom, waiting for someone to enter the small room. It looked like a doctor's office, or what he expected a doctor's office to look like. There were posters about the body all over the room, a small sink and garbage bin in the corner, a giant cupboard with medical supplies, a jar with tongue depressors on it; it all replicated what he imagined one would look like; minus the magazines.

The door clicked, signaling someone's entrance, and Newt jumped slightly.

A mature woman stepped in, one Newt didn't recognize, and she fashioned the familiar white that all the employees seemed to sport here.

"Good afternoon, Newt." She gave Newt a toothy grin as she sat down in the swivel chair, a clipboard in hand. She flicked a curtain of hair over her shoulder and rolled towards him. "I'm Wanda, a nurse here. How are you today?"

Newt shrugged, giving her a weak smile, "Same as every day." It was a truthful answer.

"Ah," She replied awkwardly, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. "Well let's get started, shall we?"

Newt licked his lips, shuffling his body on the medical bed, "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly are we getting started with?"

She let out a small laugh and rolled towards the giant cupboard. She pulled out drawers, grabbing supplies, and rolled back to him with utensils on a tray. "Just a few tests, like the director said," She grabbed an empty lancet to finger prick with, and then turned to him, grabbing his forearm, "As long as that's alright, of course."

Newt hesitated at first, but answered with a over exuberant nod, "Yeah, yeah that's fine."

"Great," Wanda gave him a warm smile, then, without warning she placed the lancet on the pad of his index finger and pricked the tip of it.

"Oi!" He hissed.

"Sorry," She apologized, turning around to put the sample of blood in a jar for testing later, "Guess I should've warned you."

 _Hell shuckin' yeah you should have._ He thought.

She moved back around to him, and he winced when he saw the giant needle in her hands, empty, waiting to be filled with his blood. Thomas was right about earlier. He'd accidently cut himself multiple times with a machete, jumped off the maze walls, pricked himself with the vines in the Garden but when it came to having a needle stuck up your arm, it made him antsy.

To sustain his masculinity, he pulled himself together with one large breath, and held his forearm out to her.

She nodded to thank him, then grabbed his arm from the elbow, and pressed the spine of the empty needle into his veins.

It took only a minute for her to, well, for lack of better words: suck up all the blood into the syringe. When she was done, she briefly exited the room with the two samples, leaving him alone again.

Being the curious fellow he was, Newt shifted in the bed, moving closer to the clipboard on the mall table beside the bed that she had so mindlessly left there.

He glanced at his portfolio.

 **SUBJECT A2: THE GLUE**

 **ISAAC NEWTON**

He hummed to himself when he saw that, making a face.

There was a handprint of his, which he had gifted them the first day he had arrived, and at the corner of the page he thought he saw the letters WCKD.

It was too quick for him to take a second glance, because Wanda entered the room again, and when she saw the awkward posture he had maintained to lean closer to the clipboard, she snatched it up and clutched it close to her chest.

She frowned at him slightly as she opened her mouth to speak. "If you'll follow me this way, we can continue with the next step." She gestured towards the open door, and he stepped ahead of her to enter the trafficked hallway.

She shut the door behind him, and then stepped around to enter a room three doors down from this one.

He was still baffled how they all knew their way around here. There were no numbers on the doors, no tags, no way of knowing which room was which. Hell, half the time he ended up entering someone else's room; like Teresa's.

He paused when they entered the next room, taking it in. They were in a larger room, and there was a large machine in the epicenter of the room.

"It's a magnetic resonance imaging machine," Wanda explained after observing the look on Newt's face. Somehow, deep down, he knew that, but the Swipe blocking his memory caused a border. "I'm going to need you to remove any metal, and you're going to have to wear this." She trotted away from him, and came back seconds later from the other side of the room with a white hospital gown.

"You can change in here," She explicated, "I'll be back momentarily. I'll find you some earplugs for the noise."

Newt licked his lips nervously as she exited the room. He had never experienced a situation like this, nor had he ever imagined it. He had no vision of a future outside of the Maze, only hoped and prayed every moment of every day to escape; now here he was.

He removed his clothes and slipped on the hospital gown, and although there was no one on the other side of the rectangular window fitted on the side of the room, he still felt exposed.

Wanda came back into the room. She handed him the ear plugs and apologized for th cold draft in the room that would likely be uncomfortable during the procedure.

"Now," She clapped her hands together in anticipation, "I'm going to be on the other side of that," She pointed to the window, "And I'll talk you through everything. Sound good?"

He nodded.

"Good," She gave him that same gummy grin again. "The procedure should only take around an hour."

He choked. An hour of being stuck in that claustrophobic piece of klunk?

She exited the room and entered the other side of the barrier moments later.

"Alright Newt," She said over an intercom, "you can take a seat on the bed. It'll slide into the machine once you're ready."

He sighed, trudging over to the machine. He swung his legs onto the platform and then let his torso fall back onto the uncomfortable platform of the bed. His head hit a pillow, and he readjusted himself as the platform sluggishly pulled inside the focus of the machine.

"You'll hear a loud clanking sound, that's normal. You can put the earplugs in now." He heard her say.

Newt nodded to himself, and raised his shaky hands to his ears to place the ear buds in.

"So, before we start, I have to warn you: No moving at all—" The itch on Newt's face started to grow. "Breathing is okay, of course, but try to remain still." He had never found that difficult, until now. He wondered how Thomas held up in this. "Just close your eyes, think of a happy place. I'm going to take different image blocks of your whole body. I'm going to start the machine now. "

He did just as she suggested, and shut his eyes tightly.

He had a hard time not flinching when the loud banging noise initiated. It was a repetitive noise, like a hammer hitting an anvil. It made him feel anxious and worried. He shut his eyes tighter, and released a steady breath.

He tried to think happy thoughts, like that time back in the glade when they celebrated their two years in the glade. It was a sort of birthday, but also, in a way, a resemblance to a funeral; their lost lives that they would never remember again. He remembered the celebration for Winston, because it also happened to be the day they arrived, and he remembered the cake that Frypan had made.

He remembered another time, when he was running with Minho. That was before his leg was hurt. He would run and run and run and he could practically run forever if it wasn't for the lack of oxygen. There was one day in particular when he and Minho had first noticed the pattern, the way the maze shifted. When they returned, they felt like heroes: the first to move a step forward to exiting the maze, who knew it would take two years after that to find a way out.

He remembered the time Florence was sent up, when she said his name after having a panic attack. He cocked his head at that thought, and then internally slapped himself for remembering not to move. Florence had said his name on the first night he arrived; maybe he had known her before. Or maybe not, maybe he was just a stranger to her, in which she took a liking to him. He smiled at thought.

When the MRI was done, he practically jumped out.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" She smiled when she re entered his side of the room.

He snorted.

"Here are your clothes," She handed them back to him, neatly folded in her arms. "Just one more thing before you go."

For the zillionth time, she left the room. When she came back she had yet another needle in her hands. Although, this one looked similar to a gun. The needle was at the end, with a blue liquid inside of it, and there was a handle with a trigger to inject the fluid. He grimaced blatantly at it.

She gave an innocent smile, "This is the last thing, I promise!"

He sighed.

She placed her hand, which was more physique then he expected, on his shoulder and turned him to stand straight. She tilted his chin up with her hand, making him feel vulnerable, then sprayed the liquid into the air before injecting into him.

"Gah!" He let out a small shriek when the spine entered his neck. It felt odd as it entered his blood stream, and due to the pain, he felt least likely to ask what exactly was being injected to him.

"All done!" She chirped seconds later. She dropped the drained syringe in an empty bin beside the door, and put s cold hand on his bare shoulder to lead him out of the terrifying room.

Before exiting the room, he leaned his head to the garbage can, getting a last look at the needle.

Printed neatly on a white label were a vague explanation of what was infused into his bloodstream.

The Bliss.

* * *

 **A/N: Just a reminder for those of you who forgot: The Bliss is an expensive drug Crank's use to slow down the effects of the disease the Flare!**

 **Thanks for the reviews from ImABird27, Guest, Guest 2, Athio, antisocialashyy, .poppins, guest 3, BadDancer, darklou, and knarl.**

 **Sorry for this chapter, super rushed and a filler! Sorry for the grammatical errors, as well. I might go back and edit this, just slightly. Anyways, I promise in three or four chapters something big'll happen!**

 **Thanks again SO much for reviewing.**


	9. A Purpose

**Disclaimer: I think you know by now that I don't own the Maze Runner Series.**

* * *

I could feel the sweat seep from my pores and slide down my face as I threw punch after punch, my bloody fists colliding with the rough material of the punching bag. My breathing was heavy, and my chest tight, but I had learned, as of recently, to push myself father then my limits.

But that didn't stop me from holding up a hand, singalling for Rhea and I to take a break, while I puffed a rescue breath of my inhaler. I shoved it back in my pocket and collapsed on the bench inside the gym, my elbows on my knees as I hunched over.

I took a large chug of my water bottle as Rhea smirked, waddling over to me.

"Not as easy as it looks, eh?" Her smirk swelled.

I shook my head. "Not exactly…" My hoarse voice cracked, "Especially when we've been at this for two days straight, only stopping for meals."

"You've been getting better though," She nodded, placing her hands on her hips, "I'll give you that. Your breathing is getting better too. It's the endurance," She told me as she took a seat beside me."In your spare time, run on the treadmill, build up your endurance even more."

I wiped a beam of sweat off my forehead with the sleeve of my white long sleeve shirt, and nodded, although I had no spare time.

"I'd say you'd have no problem punching Janson out; with a little practice that is." She laughed.

I chuckled along with her, shooting her a grin.

We were silent for a while, the only sound in the gym being my heavy breathing and the grunts of another worker across the room.

We both watched the young man as he lifted weights, much too large for his small, seemingly unfit body structure.

"So what do I have to work on coach?" I asked, looking up to her through my stringy hair.

She rolled her eyes at the name. "I'd say you've got self defense pretty much down solid, but that doesn't mean you can't learn to spice things up."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, straightening erect as I lifted the rim of the water bottle to my lips.

She shot me and overly cynical grin and stood up, her hand reaching down to hoist me up. I bit my chapped lips, but grabbed her hand and followed her.

"What are we doing?" I asked.

"We're going to spar." She told me, smiling still.

I shot her a funny look as she led me to the corner of a gym, where a large elevated circle stood. "Stop doing that," I told her as we stepped into the ring.

"Stop doing what?" She asked, grin failing to fade.

"Smiling. I pointed at her, whirling my index finger around. "That thing with your mouth… and your teeth. Stop that."

She frowned, although a hint of a smile was still upon her lips. "Remind me why I'm friends with you again?" She asked.

I shrugged, "You basically had no other choice. I mean look at me," I gestured to myself, "Would you _choose_ to be friends with me?"

She giggled, walking away from me as she flipped a curtain of red hair over her shoulder. She took her time ambling to the gear bin, and I waited for her to return, her back turned to me as she hunched over a large, black box.

I whistled to myself as she pulled out numerous pieces of gear.

"Ahh…" she groaned, and in an instant, I was at her side.

"You okay?" I asked her, as she braced her head between her hands, falling to a kneeling position over the gear box.

She inhaled with a hiss, and attempted to nod.

"You sure about that?" I asked her, putting a hand on her back, "Because you don't look okay…"

She shook her head, biting her lip as she forced her eyes shut. "It's nothing. Just a headache. She massaged her scalp, "I keep getting them lately, it's fine."

That was the first sign.

A headache.

And by the look she was giving me, it was clear that she knew that too.

There were many effects of the Flare. And what I liked to think of the 'second stage' would be the following effects.

Headaches, feeling like your brain is, well, for lack of better words; itchy, not being able to recognize the real from unreal, feeling dizzy, feeling lazy like you don't want to do anything –not even walk sometimes—, irritability, which can also be associated with thoughts of murder or violence, wanting to see blood, random laughing, and of course, you can't forget about the voices in your head.

I was lucky enough to not be able to experience any of those traumatic incidents, because of the bliss, but I almost wished I was going through it with her.

"We don't have to do this, you know." I told her, taking a seat beside her crumpled form. I brushed her hair away from her face. "We don't have to do anything, if you don't want to. If you don't feel well, maybe you should just lie down—"

"No!" She cut me off loudly, grabbing the attention of the other employee in the room.

The employee's eyes lingered our way for a long time, mostly regarding me. His eyes fell into thin slits, and I knew he must have been one of Janson's guards, because he moved a seat closer, onto the exact same weight machine, with the exact same weights. I knew that his employees were keeping a keen eye on me more so then usual. Everywhere I went in the past two days, besides my room, someone was there.

"No," She repeated quieter, "I'm helping you." She told me, "I'm helping you." She said again.

I sighed, running a hand through my sweat-ridden hair. "Rhea—" I started, but she didn't let me finish.

"No." Her eyes grew angry. "Don't you 'Rhea' me. I'm helping you. Just let me help you."

I widened my eyes at her new fury. I knew it was best not to tick her off. "Why is this so important to you? It shouldn't be. I'm the one trying to escape. I'm the one trying to get to my friends."

She pondered over my words for a few moments, her eyes falling to the floor as she brushed through her hair with her hands. "I just want to, okay?" Her hoarse voice answered, "It's important to me. I just want to know that you'll make it back to your friends. To Newt."

"But why?" I asked, looking back to Janson's minion.

Her face seemed to contort, and it was filled with wan. "Because," She whispered. "It is. I feel like everything you've told me is the truth. I feel like I'm supposed to help you, to return you to your friends. I feel like I have a purpose. And I haven't felt like that my whole life."

The word 'purpose' stuck in my mind, and I my heart couldn't help but break into a million tiny pieces as I heard her say that, while looking at the broken form of her face.

The truth was, I did need her, but I would never, **_ever_** , use her.

Instead of replying, or saying anything for that matter, I just scooted my but forward, closer to her, and wrapped an arm around her small body. She gasped at the sudden embrace, but melted into my form and returned the gesture, her head fitting into my shoulder. We stayed like that for a minute or two, until she reassured me she felt better and the dizziness had faded.

After helping her find the gear (Which consisted of two pairs of sparing gloves, a helmet, and a mouth guard) we immediately got to sparring.

"Rememeber to keep your hands up the whole time," She told me, as we bounced around the circle. "You don't want to take a hit in the face. For now, you'll be fine, but what happens when you don't have a mouth guard?"

I nodded, rising my arms higher, "Got it."

"But remember to keep your elbows down."

I readjusted, moving around the circle clockwise as she did.

"Chin tucked, shoulders out, and legs locked." She explained. "The most important tip is to breathe. Focus on breathing, but don't distract yourself from your opponent."

I nodded.

She threw a punch, which I dodged with luck, like she had taught me before.

As she readjusted her stance, I threw one at her, which she was late dodging, making me clip her in the corner of her helmet.

"Woah!" She applauded, "You actually are pretty good at this." She giggled, "Maybe it's your calling, you just never knew it."

I snickered.

"Just make sure that after you jab, you bring your jab back, high, to your chin," She explained, "Like this," She did a short demonstration, all while slamming a fist in the right side of my helmet.

"Oooh…" I groaned, feeling my head quake with the force.

I could see her try to smile in triumph through the mouth gear.

The next hour continued like that, and dinner was soon approaching, making my stomach growl. I tried to fight the urge for as long as possible, but I was getting distracted. During the beginning of the session, I was by far winning, and it shocked Rhea that I had exceeded her, and she even made a comment about 'the student surpassing the teacher' but then when I started to tire out, she had the upper hand.

I grunted as I took a hit in the shoulder, which sent me stumbling back. With all the strength I had, I lunged forward, attempting to do what Rhea would call a 'spicy move'. I had planned to slide under her and attack her from behind –Which I had only ever succeeded in once, might I add— but before I even had the chance to start to descend to the floor, she did some crazy high jump and wrapped her thighs around my head.

I squealed as I did a 360 flip in the air, my body landing on the floor while she gracefully landed into some sort of fighting stance.

"Oh my God…" I groaned, leaning up as I put a hand on y sore back. "You have to teach me that."

She snorted. "Tomorrow,"

"But—"

"Tomorrow," She said more sternly. "You're stitches are coming out. We both need a break."

I made a face at her as I propped myself up. "How do you know that?"

She helped me up before answering, and I pulled off my gloves as well as my helmet.

She pointed to my abdomen.

"Oh shuck…" I commented when I saw the alarming red expand on the iridescent white of the shirt. "Is that supossed to happen?" I asked, looking at her as I pressed my hands on my stomach.

"Do I look like a doctor?" She snarled.

I sighed, walking away from her.

"Where are you going?" She hollered as I wandered towards the door.

"To see Alistair!" I yelled back.

She groaned, expressing her obvious dislike for him.

* * *

"Hmm..." He mumbled, his hands massaging the light stubble on his face as he peered down at the operation table I sat on.

"What?" I asked.

He licked his lips, his eyes trailing along the bloody wound. Only a few stitches had broken, but it was enough to cause a small puddle of blood.

"The stitches were supposed to fall out by now," He said with a frown. "The cuts are supposed to heal."

"Is that bad...?" I asked with a cocked brow.

Doing what he did best, Alistair ignored me. From the lack of response, I got my answer.

He strided away from me, towards his instruments table, and began to grab various utensils. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

My face squished up into a look of disgust. "You're asking like you care."

"I do." He said, "Remotely."

"Why do you have to add that?" I asked, "I mean, why can't you just say 'I do' and leave it at that? Why do you have to add the remotely in there?"

He snorted, moving towards me with a tray full of supplies.

"You know," I stared, with a smile, "Initially when I first arrived I thought you hated me." I commented, winging my legs back and forth over the edge of the table like a toddler, "I thought you were my personal hell; and I yours. But now I actually think you kinda like me."

"Don't flatter yourself," He grumbled as he took a seat in his large, doctoral, swivel chair.

The tray of instruments rolled towards him and he grabbed a needle. He placed his latex gloved thumb in the hole at the end of the needle and sprayed a little bit into the air.

"What is that?" I asked.

"It'll numb the area," He told me, pushing me down by my chest.

I obliged to his push and lay horizontal on the table. I winced when I felt the spine of the needle enter my skin, but the pain quickly faded when the numbing effect set in.

He waited a minute before beginning to re stitch the area.

"So," he began again, "How are you actually feeling?" I wondered if his sudden interest had anything to do with the other day after passing out during the ETC session.

"Fine, for the most part." I answered honestly as I placed my folded arms behind my head. "I mean, I have a constant headache, and a lot of vivid dreams. But you said that's normal, right? And a few nose bleeds here and there, plus I don't vomit _that_ often."

Any sane person would have thought that that was not fine at all.

He eyed me from the corner of his eyes, and our gazes locked for a brief moment before he returned to stitching. I felt nothing but a deep pressure on my front, and it actually kind of tickled.

"How are you sleeping?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" My brows pulled together as my eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.

"I mean, there's deep purple bags under your eyes. You look like a walking corpse." He said in an agitated tone.

I turned to face him, just as he was finishing up, and in a quiet voice I replied, "I basically am, aren't I?"

His eyes met mine, and instead of saying a snarky comment back, he said nothing. In fact, he almost looked sad. Well I wouldn't call it sad, more gloomy or poignant.

"Just stay there for a sec while I wash up." He walked over to the sink, sanitizing his hands for obvious hygienic reasons, then turned back to me, with yet another bottle of pills in his hands. "Here," He tossed it to me, which I reluctantly caught.

It felt light, instead of the heavier ones I usually received.

"Take these, twice a day until they're gone. They'll help speed up the healing process."

"You guys have magic pills to heal things faster but you don't have a cure for a brain-rotting virus?"

"Go." He told me in a voice that suddenly made me feel like a small child being told to exit the room by their guardian.

"Aren't you going to do some tests on me? An Electroshock therapy session? Anything?" I questioned curiously as I hopped off the table.

"Not today," He shook his head, turning away from me.

What was wrong with his usual sarcastic demeanor? The one who didn't care if I died?

"Alright..." I trailed off, slowly trudging towards the door.

"Wait," He stopped me, holding up a hand.

I raised my eyebrows as if to say 'what?'

"How'd you rip your stitches?" He asked with honest curiosity.

"I uh… I was sparring, with Rhea. They must have split, somehow, I guess."

"Sparring?" He asked with a hint of a laugh, which I had heard for the first time that day. "Why?"

"Picking up an extracurricular activity, I suppose." It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

"Hmph," he huffed, "Be more careful next time."

* * *

"A lot of it is just breathing, relaxing, and learning to focus your energy so you don't use it all," She told me as I picked at my bowl of soup with my spoon, avoiding the onions. "The rest is just fighting." She spoke quietly in the cafeteria, which was unneeded, because for once we were actually alone, besides the chef cleaning up.

She was still going on about fighting. If we weren't training or practicing, we were talking about training and practicing, which, for the most part, I didn't mind. But I knew she was avoiding the obvious subject.

Every so often she'd close her eyes and hold her head, or she'd hiss in pain, or wince at a sudden noise. It was almost cruel watching your friend go through something like this, knowing their fate.

"You're not eating?" I asked, avoiding her conversation.

She shook her head. "I'm not too hungry," She sighed.

I frowned. "How's your head?"

"S'alright." She replied, saying it in a way that reminded me of Newt, which made me smile a little bit. "Hurts every now and again, but that's expected, you know."

"Yeah…" I trailed off, dropping my spoon in my bowl.

"Shoot!" The voice came from across the cafeteria. The chef had dropped a whole tray of dirty bowls, piled up at least a foot high. They toppled to the floor, the leftovers spilling on the white laminate. Just as I was about to go help him another chef from the kitchen came running in with a mop, so I sat back down.

"God!" Rhea exclaimed, startling me, "That makes me so mad. How hard is it to carry a few bowls on a tray? Not that hard."

I frowned at her, shooting her a discerning look. "It was an accident, Rhea, you know that right?"

"Was it though?" She asked, gesturing to the two men. "He was interrupting our conversation."

"We weren't really talking…" I countered.

"We were." She argued. "And he dropped all the bowls, interrupting us."

"Rhea," I laughed awkwardly, "Calm down. It's alright."

God, this was bad. I had never seen her this bad. The irritability was kicking in, and the headaches didn't make a good combo. I was just scared to see it progress.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" She jolted up, startling the only three people in the cafeteria. As if a sudden switch had flicked, her eyes softened and she apologized, sitting down. "Oh God. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just annoying, you know?" Her eyes darted all over the place, "I'm sorry. I really am."

"Hey it's okay," I told her, leaping over my side of the table and moving around to hers. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder as she internally panicked over her little outburst. "It's fine. It's no biggy. Don't worry."

"Okay…" She breathed, "Okay I'm sorry…"

"It's cool," I reassured her, massaging her shoulder, "Don't worry."

She nodded, biting her lip as she trembled slightly. "It's cold in here. Isn't it cold in here?"

"It is," I chuckled, although it wasn't that funny. The random thoughts, the outbursts, the headaches, it was all a slow spiral towards death, which wasn't something to laugh about.

"You know, I had a dream about you last night."

"Did you?" I asked, relieved that she wasn't worrying over the outburst anymore.

"Yeah," She nodded, and began her reminiscence, but I paid no attention. How could I? All I could think about was the virus infecting one of closest friends, how in a few days she would be a goner. I wished so badly that Newt and the others could meet her, could experience her. Her bubbliness, her jokes, her babbles, her obsessive bantering when it came to things she thought she knew more about, her strength, her positivity, her aid, it was all something everyone could enjoy in their lives.

There were times that I wished I had never met Rhea, then I wouldn't have to watch her fall apart, but then the part of me that knew I wouldn't be as close as I was to escaping without her overpowered.

I smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, picking up a few words like 'explosions' and 'rainbows' in her dream telling.

I tried to avoid the thought of knowing one day; and one day soon, I would be the same too.

* * *

 **A/N: So this was a filler chapter... And probably terrible. I apologize. Not the next chapter, but the one after that will be her arrival to the other WICKED headquarters where the others are!**

 **Thanks for the reviews from ImAInsaneBird, Magicarolina, Athio, fiercetiger333, Catarina Persophone,cecld16 and oreo8u9453!**

 **Enjoy, and as always, please let me know your thoughts.**


	10. Switching Sides

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of TMR trilogy.**

 **Be aware... a POV change later on.**

* * *

"All I'm saying is that she's been acting pretty shuckin' weird lately…" Thomas leaned closer to Minho as they sat in the vacant cafeteria. He ripped off a piece of cold bread and tossed into his mouth. "I mean, the other day I walked up to her and all I asked was 'Hey Teresa, how are you?' and she gave me this death glare… Then all she said was 'fine', and not like 'fine' like I'm mad at you, more like 'fine' there's something wrong 'fine'."

"Do you hear yourself right now?" Minho leaned back, his eyebrows high.

"I'm serious Minho. Keep an eye on her. All they do is interview her every day, more so then the rest of us. It seems pretty odd to me, considering they haven't even interviewed me about the maze yet."

"Maybe they're saving the best for last?" Minho said with an infliction in the end.

Thomas tapped his chin. "Maybe… but I say we keep an eye on her, make sure she's alright."

Minho groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. "You say that bout everyone."

"I'm serious this time!" Thomas waved his hands wildly in the air.

"Yeah yeah yeah…" Minho grumbled, placing his hands on the table to hoist him up. "We better get to bed, shank. I don't wanna feel like klunk tomorrow, especially when I'm going to be stuck in an MRI machine all day."

"That brings me to another point," Thomas said quieter as they entered the hallway, walking side by side. Their shoulders bumped occasionally, and Thomas had a difficult time keeping up with Minho's long strides. "I think it's weird that I haven't even talked to the dude in charge of this facility since the first day. I mean, almost everyone has talked to him about the maze trial, or had a brain scan, or had tests done but me. And where's the guy that killed Florence? I'd like to have a word with him."

"I think we all would," Minho huffed to himself. He paused in the hallway, just before their room, and sighed turning to Thomas as he grabbed his shoulder. "Look, Thomas, it's a big facility. I don't think it's weird that we haven't seen him. How often do you see Janson?"

He had a point. It's like he was here two days, then gone the next.

"The guy's probably out doing missions or something. Not everyone stays inside this facility, you know. The trucks in the basement are there for a reason."

Thomas rolled his eyes.

"All I'm saying is: Don't second guess everyone. It's okay to be apprehensive n' all but to an extent."

Thomas sighed. He hated giving in, considering he was extremely stubborn and always loved to have the last word, but he nodded for the sake of sleep. He was tired, and at this point, he just wanted to sleep.

"And another thing," Minho held up a finger, "Don't mention too much of this to Newt."

Thomas tilted his head.

"You know how he gets. He was stuck in the maze for three years too, and now that we're saved he believes so strongly that we'll be safe. Just keep this klunk on the down low till things warm up."

"Alright," he nodded, but his mind was still clinging on to the words 'he believes so strongly that we'll be safe'. The way those words were vocalized from Minho's mouth made Thomas second guess what Minho's thoughts were on staying here.

Did Minho think that this was a trap too?

* * *

The next day in the safe haven was much like the last. And the day before that. And the day before that. Routine played a big role in their lives, and they easily got bored considering they didn't have to help out as much as they did in the glade.

"Hey Teresa!" Thomas hollered, jogging up to her in the hallway. "What's up?"

She flinched at his sudden jolt of movement, but relaxed when he approached her side. "Hey Thomas."

Thomas felt a stab in his chest after hearing the tone of voice she used. It was quiet and cold and she called him Thomas instead of 'Tom', which he had grown to appreciate as of lately.

"Are you okay?" He asked her with genuine curiosity.

Her eyes flickered up to his, and they're irises locked for a brief moment. Just like her tone of voice, her eyes were bitter and bleak. They seemed vacant, like she was really somewhere else. "Yeah…" She sighed, throwing a curtain of hair over her shoulder. "Yeah I'm fine."

'Fine' that was a weird she used a lot lately.

The unusual quiet and non-bubbly Teresa was throwing him off. He was used to her shrill voice and her warm smile whenever she approached him.

It had been like that for the past three days. As soon as they were dismissed for breakfast, she disappeared until dinner. Today was the first time he had seen her after breakfast.

He thought back to an encounter two days ago when she was completely in an other-worldly state as he spoke to her.

 _"Teresa, did you hear that?" Thomas waved his hand in front of the girl's face, trying to grab her attention. They were the only two sitting at the table, so she couldn't have mistaken his voice for someone else's. Obviously he was addressing her._

 _"Sorry?" She asked, eyes still averted from his._

 _"I said that they're having your favorite for supper tonight. Breakfast for dinner." He told her, leaning in closely in hopes of a response other than 'nice', or 'oh'._

 _"That's nice," She responded with, earning a groan from Thomas._

 _It was Teresa's favorite. She always piled her plate as high as a mountain. Nothing excited her more than food, and he had noticed the lack of food she was intaking lately, which worried him deeply._

 _"Is something wrong?" He asked, "Did I do something?"_

 _"No," She replied, a hint of a forced smile creeping up on her face. "I'm just tired."_

 _"Maybe you should take a nap," he suggested._

 _"Maybe," She retorted._

He didn't know if the strange behavior was caused from sleep deprivation, or medicines they were giving her, or maybe she suddenly had a dislike for him (which he highly doubted – not that he was being egotistic or anything— but they were closer to each other than others) but it worried him.

"Hey guys!" Minho waved a hand as he merged through the traffic of the hallway and joined them. He slapped a hand on both Thomas and Teresa's back as he squeezed in the middle, a signature smirk on his face.

Thomas sighed internally when he saw Minho, knowing that their private conversation was cut short.

"Where you headed?" He asked Teresa.

"Surgery," She replied, more cheerier then last time.

"Surgery?" Minho repeated, "For what?"

"I'm not too sure." She answered nonchalantly.

Thomas and Minho exchanged a glance behind Teresa's back.

"I'll see you guys later," she said once they had reached the doors to the medical wing.

"Wait," Thomas stopped her by grabbing her arm, "You're not the least bit curious as to why they're going to cut you open?"

She shrugged, "Has to be for a good reason, I suppose."

"Teresa, are you serious right now?" he was almost angry at her for being so blasé.

"Yeah Thomas' got a point," Minho stabbed a thumb at him, "That doesn't seem weird to you?"

She shrugged, pivoting to turn again but Thomas grabbed her.

"Thomas let me go," She hissed with venom.

Thomas retracted his eyes wide. She had never acted so malice towards him.

"Teresa?" A woman with long dark hair stepped through the sliding doors, clipboard in arm, and smiled at her. "We're ready for you."

Teresa turned to her, nodding.

"I'm sorry…" She sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ugh… I'm just tired, I'm sorry. I haven't gotten a lot of sleep lately."

The woman placed a hand in the fore of her back and led her closer towards the doors. They slid open almost silently, and just before sliding close, Thomas heard her whisper dauntingly "I haven't gotten a lot of sleep because of the dreams…"

Teresa wasn't the same after surgery. Her face was hollow, her eyes didn't even have that sparkle of light that they used to, and her hair seemed thinner. Maybe she was infected. Maybe WICKED had lied to them about being immune to the Flare. Could that be why they gave her surgery? Or why she was acting differently? All he knew was that Thomas knew was that he wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

But for the remainder of the day, he was nowhere to be seen.

So all he could do in that moment was sit beside Teresa on a bench in the hall and remain quiet until she felt like talking.

Thomas folded his hands together, massaging them as he felt his heartbeat spike up due to nervousness. Teresa still proved to be the beautiful-looking girl with raven hair and flawlessly pale skin, her cheeks flushed with red. He reminded her of what he imagined snow white to look like.

"Teresa—"

"Thomas, don't." She hissed, holding up a finger, "My head hurts. Please. Just don't say anything." She leaned her head back on the bench, shutting her eyes forcibly. He could tell by the little wrinkles at the ends of her eyes that she was trying to keep them closed too.

He watched like that for a long time. Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours.

Eventually her eyes seemed to relax, but she didn't appear to be asleep or unconscious, more just resting; like she was taking a break.

He wanted to ask her what the surgery earlier that morning had been for, but he also wanted to let her respite. It was a difficult dilemma, especially when he had analyzed almost her whole body and noticed no stitches, nor blood, and she didn't seem to wince at all when she moved, nor did any aches and pains occur. She just looked tired.

She looked like she was going to explode with stress any second, but what was she stressed about? Had the sudden change in scenery from the maze screwed her up? But she had only been in the maze for a few days…

His thought was cut short when he saw Janson taking long strides down the hallway, a pack of his employees following behind him in a v-shape like he was the leader of a flock of birds in the sky. He looked confident as he ambled over, and Thomas stood when he approached him. Not to be polite, but to prepare himself to inquisition the hell out of Janson.

"Teresa, would you mind coming with us?" a young woman with pixie-cut brown hair and big blue eyes strode ahead of Janson and stopped in front of her.

Teresa didn't open her eyes to the addresser; she just nodded her head in a barely noticeable way.

"Woah woah woah," Thomas shook his head. "No, she's staying with me."

"I'm afraid not, Thomas." His voice was like a firecracker in a silent, summer night. He sounded like a radio speaker, his voice secure, clear, and clear.

"Where are you taking her?" He gesture to Teresa, who was now being towed away by the pixie-haired women. "Hey!" he hollered, "Wait!"

Janson smirked, and in that specific moment, Thomas decided that he couldn't trust the man. The way his lips curled up so cynically, and the way his eyes squinted like he was happy to see her so in pain, it was cruel. He knew that he wasn't meant to see that smile, because Janson quickly wiped it off his face.

Thomas scowled at Janson, which made him respond with a look of surprise. "Does she have the Flare?" Thomas asked him, "Is that what this is? Is that why she's been acting differently?"

"What?" He shook his head, "No. Certainly not, Thomas."

"Then why are you taking her?!" He snarled, looking back to Teresa.

Teresa, for once in the past few days, actually expressed emotion in her face. As her arm was being tugged by the women into a door, she looked back at him. Their eyes locked, and she saw the glint of fear in her eyes that screamed 'help me' just before the door slid to a close. He could still see her face in the foggy window of the door, but seconds later, she disappeared.

He would never get that look that she had just given him out of his mind. It was etched into his brain, seared into his mind. The way her eyes were wide and watery, the way her mouth parted, her bottom lip jutting out, the way she carried herself as she tried not to let the women separate them, it was all to surreal.

"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HER?" He yelled at Janson.

The sudden spike of pitch in his voice grabbed the attention of everyone in the hallway, even Newt and Minho who were far behind Janson, walking towards them.

He could sense the two guards behind him move in closer, ready to defend Janson if necessary.

"Thomas, she will be fine."

"How do I know that?" He countered.

"She is in our hands. I can assure you she will be fine. You have to trust me on this. Do you trust me?" He asked.

Thomas took his time answering. His gut screamed no, and he was always one to follow his gut; but he had to think strategically. He had to think about how he could play on saying he trusted Janson. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, right?

He gave Janson a slow nod.

"Good," Janson dipped his head, smiling with content. "Then I suggest you trust me, and let me handle things myself."

"Alright," Thomas said through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists so tightly, that he thought he might have drawn blood.

Janson gave him one more smile before passing him, their shoulders gently colliding as he walked the opposite way.

* * *

Alistair exited the helicopter, wrapping the scarf that hung loosely from his neck tighter around him to protect him while he walked from the helicopter pad up to 'the safe haven' that Janson was faking for the candidates.

Alistair was on a mission, for the sake of Florence.

When he had first met Naomi, he thought she was a snarky, sarcastic, and a condescending little shit, just like her files had described her; but she had grown on in him in the last few weeks. Not only that, but he had actually wanted to protect her. The only problem with that? That wasn't in his job curriculum. But that didn't matter.

He could see the way Florence's eye lit up every time someone even mentioned the maze, or the subjects in it, she could see how eager she was to get out. Although he was not going to help her escape, he was going to suggest it to Janson.

Because the truth was: she was dying. Slowly, but surely. The Bliss may have postponed the side effects, but it didn't completely eradicate them. She was part of the trials, right? So Janson had to reunite Thomas and Florence eventually. Truth is, though, was that they were ruining her. The girl was so strong, she had even tried to learn how to fight abck, but they were destroying her. Her brain was being fried, cortousey of Alistair himself, she ahd been cut open numerous times, sometimes without even knowing, her body was drugged up, and the lack of sleep didn't make it any better. If they kept going like this, she would die. But not from the Flare.

That was the reason for Alistair marching up the steps to WICKED's second headquarters. HQ2 they liked to call it.

He did a hand print scan, and let them do a quick blood sample with a finger-prick as he entered the building, just as they entered the building, and then one of the security guards led him to the giant doors that acted as a chamber for the building.

He allowed him through, by slamming down the big steel door knob that is, and then led him to Janson.

"He's in his office," The old man told Alistair, rubbing the grey beard then hung from his chin. "Been there since morning, keeps yapping about the Teresa girl." He mumbled to him, probably revealing more then he should have to Alsitair.

Just as they passed the cafeteria to trek to the assistant director's office, something caught his eye,

Three boys.

His first thought was: why were they up this late? But his next thought was to make his face apparent, so they could see him, and maybe they would follow him.

Why did he want that?

He didn't know.

Maybe he was switching sides…

Maybe it was Florence. Maybe he pitied the girl who had made mistakes, loved the wrong person, and befriended someone who was already dead.

He recognized the boys to be Thomas, Minho, and another subject from group B.

He pulled the scarf from his face, and took off the hat that clung tightly to his light hair. He could see the three boys chatting away, neither of them looking his way.

Janson unzipped his jacket, hoping the noise would grab the attention of the boys, but it was still too quiet even in the silent hours of this time of night.

An idea popped into his head, and he immediately enforced it.

"Hold up!" He told the guard, speaking louder then he should have. "My shoe lace is untied."

And it was, truthfully, but normally he wouldn't care.

He coughed loudly, finally grabbing their attention, and leaned down to retie his shoe. He had instantaneously got a reaction out of them; and although he couldn't distinguish what they were saying, he could hear them loudly whispering as Thomas slapped the other boys' chests.

Alistair smirked to himself as he finished the double knot on his shoe.

Thomas pointed to Alistair, and he could see them following in his peripheral as they walked down the hall.

"Janson," The guard rapped against the fogged glass door of the office. "Janson it's Alistair. He's here to see you."

"Be out there in a sec."

The guard turned to Alistair. "He'll be out here in a sec," He smiled, walking off.

"Thanks captain obvious…" Alistair murmured under his breath.

"What?" He pasued, turning back to him.

"What?" He jolted up, "Oh nothing!""

"Alright," The guard grinned again, walking off.

Alistair huffed as he waited outside Janson's office. Nearly a minute had passed, and he didn't understand why he had to wait outside. There was nothing to hide from him, he knew just as much as Janson… right?

"Janson," He grumbled, get annoyed now. "I don't have all freakin' day. Open the door." Just as he went to knock on it again, it slid open. Behind it was the one and only assistant director.

"What's wrong Alistair?" he asked, stepping out into the hallway.

Alistair peered over Janson's shoulder to try to get a good look at what he was hiding before the door slid shut with a click. "Uhh—"

"Has Ava sent you? Is the Chancellor wanting to talk?"

That was the only other reason for Alistair to visit, otherwise he would have never stepped foot in this building. The truth was, though, that the chancellor had been missing in action as of lately, and maybe that was why Janson was talking such a drastic stand.

"No," he shook his head, "No. She's fine. Everything's fine. I haven't talked to her. I actually came here on my own terms."

Janson frowned, and Alistair found the choice of facial expression odd. He remembered when the two used to be partners; that was, until he became AD and the power went all to his head. "Why on earth are you here then?" he added with an accusational tone.

Just as he opened his mouth to answer, he saw the three boys to his right, their heads popping out of the door to the washrooms. The group B boy on the bottom, then Thomas, and Minho on top, like something from a cartoon.

"Uhhh…." He stuttered. When his eyes flickered over there, he made contact with them, and they all darted back into the washrooms. "Well you see…." Janson stalled; and then finally, he sighed, placing both hands on Janson's shoulders. He patted them a few times, then rotated his body, forcing Janson to face him more, so his back to be to the boys.

Once Alistair had a clear view of both Janson and the boys, whose heads popped up again, he released Janson.

"It's about her." Alistair muttered, knowing Janson knew who he meant.

He rolled his eyes, "Ugh."

Janson's jaw set as he glared at the assistant director. "I think we should slow things down for a while."

"What do you mean?" He asked, with more interest this time. "She's fine."

"No she's not," He responded aggressively. "She's not responding to the Electroshock therapy, all we're doing is frying her brain."

"She's a smart girl." He shot him a crooked smile, one that caused Janson to freeze up inside. "She's strong."

"Not that strong."

Janson sighed, rubbing his neck as his eyes sank to the floor. "Look… I—"

"Janson!" He growled as his hands flew up, "You're going to kill her. Psychologically, and even neurologically, this could ruin her. We need to stop Janson." Alistair threatened. "I thought you needed her for Thomas."

Janson immediately fell into a defensive state. "We do need her for Thomas. We also need her for testing."

"We'll she's not going to be there for either of those reasons if you keep doing this."

"Why are you defending her?" His lips pursed as his eyes grew wide, his thick brows rising in a condescending matter. "I thought you hated the little runt."

Alistair had no response to that. He didn't even really know why he was defending her. Maybe she reminded him of his younger self. Maybe he was realizing wasn't really as good as he once thought.

"You know what?" Janson relaxed, his arms dropping. "It doesn't matter. Tomorrow she's coming back."

"Coming back?"

Janson opened his mouth to clarify, "I'm bringing her here. Under the down low, of course. They're not to find out she's here." He pivoted to gesture to the dorm rooms, assumedly where they were sleeping.

"What's the point of that?" Alistair asked.

"I have a plan." He smirked devilishly. "And you're going to help me."

* * *

Thomas smacked Minho's head, which was kind of difficult considering he was above him. He was being too loud; Janson would notice that they were in the washrooms.

"Shut up, Slinthead, I'm trying to listen." He snarled at Minho who was furiously rambling about how he was going to kill the man who had murdered Florence. "Be quiet."

"Oh look you don't wanna go over there and beat the living klunk out of him?" He whisper-shouted.

"I do, trust me, I do," He reassured, "But he seemed like he wanted us to follow him, didn't he? So let's wait and see what he has to say.

They were trying to remain silent as they eavesdropped on the two men. The Florence-murderer moved the man so he wouldn't be able to see them, and he found that odd.

"Kinda weird…" Aris murmured from underneath him.

"Agreed," Minho added.

"Shh…" he shushed them.

Just as he shushed them, the two made eye contact. Full on eye contact, and he didn't say anything. The man just flickered his eyes between Janson and them; like he didn't care they were listening. Now maybe 'listening' was the wrong choice of words, considering he couldn't hear half of what they were saying.

He could only pick up a few phrases.

"…frying her brain." The man said.

"She's a smart girl," Janson responded with, puffing his chest. Girl. Were they talking to Teresa? It could have been Teresa, that would make the most sense, but why would this man have shown up now? Why had he never seen him until today? He never saw her around Teresa, Teresa never said anything. What girl was he working with then?

"Janson!" The man's outburst startled them, making them all flinch. "…going to kill her. Psychologically… neurologically… could ruin her. We need to stop Janson." He stopped, and then added, "—thought you needed her for Thomas."

He perked up at his name, and both boys looked at him.

Thomas shrugged, turning back to them.

What if this was Florence they were talking about? She was dead… or was she?

"…Why are you defending her?" He heard Janson say.

The next few seconds of the conversation got quiet, making Thomas annoyed, but then he heard Janson speak again.

"I have a plan. And you're going to help me."

Thomas rolled around, darting behind the bathroom wall with Aris and Minho once they came back down the hallway. AS soon as they heard the heels of their shoes pass, they sighed, relaxing against the tiled wall.

"Who do you think they're talking about?" Minho asked.

Thomas made an apprehensive face, and that expression, Minho knew he was thinking of Florence.

"No." He cut off. "No No No. She's dead."

"Is this the Florence chick you guys are talking about?" Aris asked.

Thomas nodded, while Minho shook his head, not at Aris' question though.

"She's dead, Slinthead."

"What if she isn't?" He theorized, "Look, I've had these weird dreams with her in them. And I heard her speak in my head, like how Teresa spoke to me. Things have changed, how do we know she's not dead?"

"I saw four bullets go straight through her!" He argued a little too loudly.

Thomas frowned, shrinking into the tiled wall behind him. "Fine. Think what you want, but I think that maybe you think I'm right."

"What? Did you just hear me?" He barked.

"Yeah," He nodded, ignoring Minho's volume of voice, "And I think maybe you're right."

"You're a Slinthead," He groaned, standing up; and at that point, he thought Minho would walk out. Maybe what he had assumed about Minho was wrong. Maybe he was completely against the idea being a trap, but then he turned around. "She's dead, and you know it." He stabbed a finger, and as if to stike a chord in Thomas he added, "Just like Chuck… but maybe you're right about things being weird."

Thomas tried to hide the smile on his face.

"I'm not saying you're right!" he emphasized. "Just sayin' that maybe you are," he added lighter.

"I agree." Aris added, "I've noticed weird things happening. They won't let us into certain wings in the building. They won't allow us in certain rooms. I haven't seen any angry cranks, besides the few irritable ones, but they seem pretty normal to me. Where are the ones that start to go crazy?"

"They're downstairs, Janson told us that on the first day," Minho answered.

"But I haven't even seen one have an outburst. How do they distinguish people who need to be sent downstairs? And the kids. Some of the other immunes, not the maze kids, but the regular munies have been disappearing."

"How do you know?" Thomas asked.

"I sit alone almost every day… I notice these things." Aris made a face.

"Fair enough," Minho nodded.

"I say we get to the bottom of whatever's happening here," Thomas suggested, "I'm not saying that this palace is as bad as WICKED, but I think that something seriously messed up is happening. I'm going to investigate. Are you guys in?"

To his surprise, they both nodded.

"But on one condition," Minho bargained.

Thomas cocked his head.

"Don't tell Newt."

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for the reviews from ImAInsaneBird27, M, fiercetiger333, Mahogany Bitch, Athio, and darklou. BE prepared for the next chapter! Eeek!**


	11. A Story

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Maze Runner Series. I'm not that clever.**

* * *

 **Warning: This chapter is a freakin' roller coaster. Lots of sadness, emotions, and I'm hoping I hit you right in the feels. There's also some swearing. Anyways... this is probably the longest chapter I've ever written. ENJOY.**

* * *

It was getting worse. The headaches, the migraines, the chills. All symptoms similar to the flu, but not quite as bad; but that was because the virus was working its magic. It was tearing her apart, piece by piece. The outbursts were more arbitrary, the screaming was less frequent, but that was because she was talking to herself now. In her head. She complained of voices constantly haunting her, and when I argued that no one was speaking, she'd get angry with me. Her beautifully red, Disney-like hair was starting to fall in large clumps, leaving thin clusters on her head.

Her skin started to break out in what looked like hives, but was really just an effect of the flare called micro-flare. It looked like eczema on her body, and she was constantly scratching it. She had already created a small scab across her left cheek.

Despite all that, despite the madness of it all, she was still just the small 5"5 girl who was my best friend. Best friend duties included holding one's hair –or what was left of it— while they heaved into the cafeteria toilets.

"I don't want to do anymore." I told her, brushing my fingers through her hair again as I held the make-shift ponytail in the other hand.

"No…" She dejected with a wet cough, "Please. You're just saying that because I'm sick."

"No…" I told her, "I'm not. I truly don't feel well either. I'm tired and I'd rather just hang out in the lounge."

"Well suit yourself." She sniffled as she stood up from the toilet seat, wiping he mouth with a square of toilet paper. She bent over to rinse her mouth with water then turned to face me again as she swabbed her face with her shirt sleeve.

"Why don't you come with me?"

She sniffled again, her eyes still a bulging red from exerting so much force to vomit. Or was that the effects of the Flare? "I wanna help you, Florence."

"You _have_ helped me," I stressed. "All I need is a little bit of practice, but as of right now I'm tired; and I just wanna relax with my best friend. So how about it."

She exhaled angrily through her nostrils, stomping lightly on the ground as she trudged past me. "Fine," She obliged like a bratty toddler.

I felt like the mother, only, this motherhood was making me sadder then it was happy.

"Come on," I held my arm out to her as I walked out of the washroom stall, and she looped hers into mine as we exited the bathrooms.

We walked silently out of the cafeteria, deserting our food, and entered the hallway so we could head towards a small lounging area near the elevators.

Everyone seemed to be calmer when Janson wasn't around, less on edge. He had been MIA lately, which meant a lot of the workers slacked off, and the hallways weren't buzzing with business like they usually were.

" _No everything's fine… Yeah I'm fine… Perfectly fine…"_ I looked over to rhea, who was murmuring to herself like a psychotic schizophrenic while picking dead skin off her lips with her teeth between words. It hurt to see her like that; to see her go mad.

The end of the hallway opened up to a smaller foyer which had two chairs, a table, and a couch. No one sat here, besides the cranks. We plopped onto the sofa, taking two separate sides, avoidinf eachother like strangers on a bus.

She was acting hostile, and I wasn't sure if that was because she was forgetting who I was, or because she was forgetting who she was…

"They locked Darren up yesterday." Rhea muttered after a long moment.

Darren. I had almost forgotten about the twin boy who had helped break into Janson's office.

"How's Dean holding up?" I asked her, mentioning the other twin.

She shrugged, "Haven't really talked to him. Not well, I suppose. I mean, they're brothers for God sakes. Cassandra shot herself last night."

I stiffened in my seat, snorting at her bluntness of her acquaintances suicide. Her demeanor was so nonchalant, so hostile, that it freaked me out, thinking one day soon she might go after me and feel no remorse.

"Oh my God…" I breathed, tearing up. I barely knew the girl, but she had helped me without any convincing, and that meant something to me.

She shrugged, which made me shiver. "Guess she couldn't wait any longer. I always thought she was the strongest in the group. Can't tell if that's a brave move or not though…"

Her hands fiddled mindlessly with a bracelet around her wrist. It was one I had noticed she had worn before. In fact, I don't recall a time where she took it off. She slept with it, she ate with it, she went to the washroom with it.; Hell, she probably even bathed with it.

It was a simple bracelet, and it was starting to get ratty looking. The color of it wasn't even that nice, and it astounded me that a fashion critic like her wore a beige plaited wristlet like that.

"It was my father's," She clarified, catching my curiously vacant eyes boring into it.

"I thought you said you were on only child?" I gave her a bewildered expression.

"I lied," She replied monotone. "I had a younger brother. Thought maybe not taking about him like he didn't exist would help.

She blurted out everything so quickly it was hard for me to understand.

She continued, "But in realism, it only made it worse. Now that my emotions are pouring out of every orifice I just wanna explode; so I'm going to tell you about my little brother Ben."

It was an odd way to go about speaking about her brother, but I just nodded for her to continue, reminding myself the effects of the Flare never failed to take place at the most random times.

"Technically he's not my brother… but… whatever. He wasn't blood related, but that doesn't really say much. We adopted him because he was an orphan and at the time, people were dying. He lived with us for five years, and he was seven when my mother killed him—"

I winced.

"It never mattered to me that we weren't blood related, because either way I lived with the kid and treated him like I would a brother. Anyways when my mother got sick, she started to hate him, for no reason at all; and it was hard for him because he looked up to her so much. The woman who used to read him bed time stories and kiss him goodnight was now trying to put a bullet through his brain."

Feeling speechless was the only literal way I could describe myself right now. Rhea had never talked about her family, only briefly when I first met her, and now here she was on the opposite of the couch to me curled up into a fetal position, reminiscing on her not-so-brother that she told me she didn't have.

"Maybe she just wanted someone to hate, someone to blame this all on, and Benny just sat there and took it half the time, because he knew she was dying. He knew that she was going crazy, just like I am right now."

"Rhea…" I gave her a sympathetic look, "Look, we don't have to talk about this. We don't ever have to talk about this if you don't want to."

Her vacant eyes flickered up to me, but she still looked empty; like she was looking past me, but when I followed her gaze behind me, all I saw was a white wall.

"I want to talk about it," She tried to convince me, "Because if I don't tell anyone, who will know? Who will remember the life of Rhea Holbrook? I'll just slip into oblivion and be a big ol' nobody, who we all are, I guess."

I had no idea what she was talking about, but listened and nodded like I understood.

"I want someone to remember me," I saw the tears pool in her eyes as her gaze dropped to the floor, and that was the moment I knew.

She was approaching the most menacing stage of the Flare. When they reached it, we described them as 'Past the Gone'. It was when they reached a point of no return. The last of train of a remotely humanized thought floods out of their body like a freakin' dam.

Even if I begged like crazy, Alistair wouldn't give her 'the Bliss', because that would be a waste of an expensive drug. There was no fixing her.

"I just want to be remembered… I want to be loved." She cried into her hands.

Apprehensively, I scooted towards her and wrapped a comforting arm around her small shoulders, letting her lean into my chest.

I couldn't help but tear up a little bit too. She wasn't dead, but she might as well have been. So for the last hour of her sane life, I let her talk. I let her tell me about everything and anything that was Rhea Holbrook. She told me about her life.

She told me she learned karate when she was four. She held her first gun when she was nine, her dad being a police officer, and she had her first kiss only a year ago. She told me that she was in school when the Sun Flares hit, an elementary school student. She said they hid under the desks, waited for the waves of heat to stop, and then her, her teacher – who's name she couldn't remember— and three other students darted for the subway underneath town. Both parents managed to find her, which was miraculous considering the amount of death going on around them, and then she told me the three of them hid in their own, half-destroyed mansion waiting for rescue. No one came, though, only a two year old boy, crawling to their doorstep, swathed in scabs and infections did.

His name was Benjamin, though Rhea called him Benny. It was a miracle that someone that young had survived a few months by themselves, although Rhea had a theory about that, saying that she think another family had taken him in the deserted him after deducting he was just dead weight. They were actually quite happy for a while, until their mom got sick. It wasn't the Flare that killed her, it was something else.

There were plenty of things wrong with her mother, some mental, like depression, some physical, like the gangrene she developed from having been cut in the knee, and not being able to obtain the antibiotics for treatment. She had developed some sort of virus that had similar effects to the Flare, only milder, and less gruesome looking.

She wasn't there when her mother shot her brother, but she heard the gunfire from outside. Soon after, she heard another shot. Her father.

By the time she made it inside her house everyone she had ever loved was dead with a bullet in their head, except her mother who was rotting in the living room, shouting cursive words at her about how she should've stopped her dad from putting an own bullet in his brain.

So she left.

She ran into the surviving group she had told me about and for a long time she was depressed, until they picked up a boy around her age, alone since the sun flares. His name was Desmond. She didn't go into much detail, but she explained to me that Desmond was her first kiss, and would now be her last. It was Desmond that kept her alive, and kept her wanting to be alive. In the short amount of time from traveling halfway across the scorched earth to finding the crank palace, to arriving at WICKED, Desmond disappeared; in the middle of the night, with no explanation. She said the hardest part was not knowing, whether he was alive or dead. Did she do something? Was he kidnapped? Did he hide somewhere to die? Not even a note to explain.

Once again, she fell into a depressive depth, until they came to WICKED, and that's when she met me.

So that was Rhea Holbrook's life story, the story that was plain as ever but also the most exciting and most epithermal, inspiring, while also dispiriting story you might've have ever heard. Through all the sad thoughts she covered it up with sarcastic cracks and complaints about fashion, because that's just who she was.

She was Rhea Holbrook.

* * *

Recognizing the real from the unreal was difficult for Rhea. It was like all of a sudden, in the span of a few hours, she had this murderous tendency. She was bloodthirsty, and all she wanted to witness was the sight of someone's head being ripped off. The black veins started to snake up her body, visualizing he virus outwardly now. Her eyes started to bulge, and a bleak black filled her irises.

She laughed a lot, at the most randomest times, which was further eerie. She cried a lot. And she talked a lot, but mostly to herself.

 _"Yes. I know what you want me to do."_

 _"Stop it stop it STOP IT."_

 _"I'll kill all of them if I have to."_

 _"Blood. Blood. I see blood."_

Those were her common phrases; and not the nicest as you could tell. She was so far Gone I was surprised that they hadn't locked her up yet. It was difficult to see her like this, so difficult that I was actually in Alistair's room, begging for his mercy, to do something. Anything.

"If you have any humanity in you… at all… you would do this." I pleaded with tears in my eyes. "You would help her. Help me." My hands folded together as I followed him around the room, while he paced back and forth grabbing various instruments. I had caught him at a bad time.

"Alistair!" I shrieked, "Please. Listen to me."

He was still running around the room, grabbing boxes of gloves, moving his chair, bringing machines out that I had never seen before.

"Can't you give her the Bliss or something?"

He shook his head, although I only saw the back of it. "It's no use. She's too far gone."

" _Alistair."_ I stressed, pausing in the middle of the room. "She's going crazy…"

"That's what cranks do, Naomi." I ignored the misuse of name as he sighed nonchalantly without looking at me, still bending over to sort through one of his cabinets.

"You don't understand, though. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want to be remembered like this. I don't want her to be some experiment. I don't want to come down here every day and see her locked up in those _freaking_ cages you have for human beings!" I screamed at him.

"THEY'RE NOT PEOPLE, NAOMI!" I was stunned by the thunderous yell of his voice as he whipped around. His hand clenched into fists and his nose scrunched up.

All I could do was cower a few steps back, and scowl angrily at him, knowing his superiority was far greater than mine.

"They're not human beings anymore, Naomi."

"Florence," I couldn't help but correct him. The people I loved knew me by that name, so that was the name I was going for. "My name… its Florence."

"They're just cannibalistic creatures with human features. There is no humanity left in them. Don't you get that? You lost your friend a long time ago, back when she yelled at the guy in the cafeteria."

How would he have known that? Was he watching? Spying?

He pivoted around, too impatient for a reply, and continued to sort through his cabinets. He pulled scalpel's out, medical scissors, sponges, and much more. All surgical weapons, and I wasn't scheduled for a surgery anytime soon, unless they were going to hide it from me again and put me under without me knowing, but then he wouldn't be doing this right in front of me.

"Wait…" I sniffled, my voice cracking slightly from the tears. "What are you doing?"

He sighed, pressing both hands on the table in front of him, shaking his head. I could only see his back, but I could still tell that he had heard me and was ignoring me.

"What are you doing, Alistair? Who are you cutting open now?"

He peered over at me through the little crack between his arm; his eyes almost looking guilty; remorseful. The only surgery Alistair ever performed were on me, soon-to-be cranks or cranks.

"Alistair." I said louder, sterner. "Who are you cutting open now?"

The sigh gave it all away, as well as the walking away from me.

The anger inside me exploded like a detonating bomb and I lunged for him.

"ALISTAIR!" He was going to hurt my best friend. I was going to him for help. How could I be so stupid? He was a part of WICKED. He wasn't good. He wasn't a friend, someone to lean on.

I chased him out of the room and down the hallway until we made it to the elevators.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" I cried at him; spit flying from my mouth, as well as tears, as I pushed his back towards the elevator doors. "You can't to this!" I flipped him over, and although he had the strength to fight back, he did nothing. He just took it as I repeatedly through punches towards his chest, hammering my fist against his skin. "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!"

I threw one towards his head, using a tactic Rhea taught me. I hit him square in the nose. Although there was no satisfying 'crunch' there was the success of crimson red draining from both nostrils.

"I fucking **hate** you." I growled through gritted teeth.

I hadn't realized the group of guards coming down the hallway, I only notice when six hands attached themselves to my body. I didn't have the effort to fight back, although I could. The fury flooding through me like spurt of adrenaline was too much to ignore.

So I screamed obscenities as they lugged me into the elevator, pushing me against the far wall, and closed them shut, sending me to the third floor.

My world span as I reached my floor, staggering out the elevator like a drunk person out of a bar. I stumbled towards a bench across from the elevator, collapsing on the hard wooden surface.

I tried to hold it together, attempted to keep myself strong, but it was too difficult. It would only be harder to see her every day locked up in a glass cage like a fish in a tank, growling and spitting, sratching and clawing like some sort of wild cat.

She was the only thing keeping me sane in this place.

I would never get out, and if that wasn't bad, I would see my friend every day I came down to the crank ward, growling at me like a rabid dog.

"Florence."

My head popped up, and I turned to see where my name had come from. The elevator doors in front of me were closed. To the left of me, there was a deserted hallway; which mimicked the corridor to the right of me. I stood up from the bench, hearing my name again, and turned around the corner beside me, directly across from the elevator.

I staggered to the middle of it, and saw my best friend staring me down across the hallway.

She was drooling, immensely, and her body slung to the side, her posture slightly to the left.

We stood across from each other, staring at one another's eyes like to cowboy's in a standoff, waiting for the other to make the first move, or to at least say something.

"Are you okay, Rhea?" I asked, hoping that she'd reply with a sarcastic remark like 'Do I look okay?' or 'Am I okay? Of course I am. But the color of nail polish on your nails is definitely not.' But instead, I was granted with a mouthful of gurgles, and a long moan.

She barred her teeth at me like a rabid dog, and I cringed when I saw her red stained teeth.

"I'm so hungry… so so hungry…" She gurgled, stepping towards me. "I love you, you know that. I love you so much." She took a step towards me, dragging her other foot behind her like it was injured. "Urrh… GAH!" She screamed, making me recoil a few steps, covering my hands over my ears until the echoes settled.

"People who love each other do stuff for each other." She gulped loudly, and I cringed in disgust when I saw the black veins around her neck throb. "Your hands, you don't need them. Don't need them."

"I do…" I sniffled, trying to hold back the tears as I took a few steps back. "I need my hands."

"No you don't…. you DON'T!" She screamed. She hissed, than cranked her neck from side to side. She took another step towards me, still lugging her foot behind her like dead weight, and then took another. "Itchy itchy itchy. So Itchy…" She started scratching her face. She scratched and scratched and scratched, and the scab from earlier flaked off and feathered to the floor. I had to hold back the vomit wanting to escape.

I gagged when she scratched underneath her eye, drawing blood on raw skin.

"Urhhh…" her eyes moved up to meet mine, and she glared at me like she had only jus noticed I was there. I could see the look of hunger in her eyes, and I knew that I should run at that moment, but I didn't. It was like I couldn't look away, so I didn't.

And she took another step towards me. And another. And another. Until she was full blow running –well limping— towards me. Her sand-paper like fingers grabbed a hold of my wrist, but I managed to slip free with ease and dart down the left hallway. He fingers felt gritty as they released my wrist, and I shivered for some reason.

She was trying to eat me.

My best friend wanted to kill me.

I had no time to cry, no time to think; because she was right on my tail as I sprinted down the hallway.

"HELP! HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!" I kept screaming until someone heard me. Someone had to hear me. Where were all the employees?

I could hear her inhuman gurgles getting closer and closer, and I wondered how she was so fast with the use of only one foot?

"SOMEONE HELP!"

 _Oh Shit._ Dead end.

The hallway curved slightly to the left, and at the end, was a close. No doors. No escapes. Only a flickering light with a lonesome couch underneath it, a few magazines sitting neatly on the armrest.

I pivoted around to face Rhea, and just stood there, frozen, as she came running towards me, arms flailing like a windmill.

I shut my eyes, waiting for the impact, and half-expected (or rather prayed) there to be none. But there was.

She pushed us both to the ground, and she had me pinned under her small body

"Show me what you got, Florence." She growled, squirming on top of me as her teeth came together like a snapping turtle. "Where's all that stuff I taught you? You forgot? You weak? You're never going to see your friends again." She tried to bite my wrist that was holding one of her arms up and I recoiled, shutting my eyes as she snapped for my face.

I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want to fight back. Not this time.

She clamped down on my right wrist, and I let out a blood curdling scream, knowing that would leave a nasty, bruised, bloody wound tomorrow.

Suddenly, there was a release of weight, and she was no longer on top of me. I reopened my eyelids, and saw her writhing like an inchworm on the ground, two guards on top of her with her arms held behind her back. She tried to head butt their legs, but there was no use.

"Bring her to Alistair," A tall, brooding guard said from the other end of the hallway. His hands were neatly folded behind his back and he watched the scene like it was an everyday occurrence.

"No!" I immediately stood erect, my hands waving around frantically. "No. Don't take her. Please don't take her," I tried to plead with the head guard. He ignored me as if I was merely a buzzing fly, and the two other guards hulled her body down the hall. "NO please!" I screeched. "Please. I'll take care of her! I'll watch her!"

But it was too late. The two other guards were already in the elevator, metal doors shutting behind them.

I allowed myself to deteriorate to the floor, letting gravity take its course as the world around me disintegrated into nothingness. I let the sobs wrack my already trembling chest; and I let the guard carry me into my room until I fell unconscious.

* * *

It seemed only seconds later I was awoken, but in realism it was probably hours.

I felt groggy, and my eyes were slightly dazed over. My body ached, and my mouth tasted funny. I looked down at my wrist, which was wrapped neatly with a bandage and medical tape. I lifted my legs over my bed, setting them on the floor, and took a second to regain my thoughts before doing anything. The guards. They had taken her. They were taking her to Alistair.

I sprung into actions, not even bothering to put my shoes on, and darted around the corner, sprinting down the hall in an old pair of dirty white socks.

I slid on them when I get closer to the elevator, gliding to a stop before slamming into the metal, and murmured to myself as I waited for the doors to open. "Come on.. Come on.. Come on.."

They opened with a reluctant _'ding!'_ and I pressed the basement floor. It jolted downwards, and a distant memory of the maze popped up, reminding me of the Box. It was seconds before I reached the ground level.

I sprang into another dash as the doors opened again, and I zigzagged down every corridor until I was met with the last one.

I used my socks to slide to a stop when I saw the heart-wrenching scene in front of me.

The instantaneous feeling of a train slamming into my chest manifested itself.

There was a bed; a hospital bed. On that bed was a person, a white sheet draped over their body like a ghost. I couldn't see their face I could only see the feet. The small, size five and a half, 'party pink' painted toenails gave it all away. How had she even obtained nail polish in a worldwide crisis like this? I'll never know. But there she was, Rhea Holbrook, my best friend, dead, on a hospital bed with her small toes lynching over the edge.

Two young looking nurses rolled her out, and I looked to the doorframe where I saw Alistair, arms folded, eyes pinned on her body. Even with the mask on, I could tell his face actually looked wan.

I was frozen in the hallway. My body stiffened as I tried to process it all.

"No…" I moaned; my face scrunching up as the water works prepared to let loose. "No God Dammit, NO!" My knees buckled beneath me and I let out a loud scream through gritted teeth, not caring for the saliva sputtering through my teeth.

Alistair immediately lunged for me, moving past my dead best friend and the two nurses to lift me up.

The hole left in my chest was agonizingly cavernous. I knew she was dead a long time ago, but seeing her fragile body laying in front of me, covered in the thin cotton sheet that still managed to show her envious features made me want to die.

How could I go on without her?

She mentioned something today about being blood related didn't matter, because family didn't end in that. At the end of the day, family is what's there for you; family is someone you lean on, someone you consider to be blood-related.

Besides the gladers, Rhea Holbrook was the only family I had left.

You'd think the final days approaching her inevitable reality might've helped me accept all of this, but it didn't. It only made it harder. It only made the crushing feeling in my chest deepen, the headache in my head grow more.

"What happened?! What happened!" I tried to scream at Alistair, but it came out wavy between the blubbers. His arms were around my mid-section, and my shaky knees made it hard to completely hold myself erect. I tried to look up at him, but he just cuffed his arms around me in a restraint. "WHAT HAPPENED…?!" I cried out.

"She's gone! Florence. She's gone…"

"Get off of MEE!" I howled, shoving his grip. He discharged me, and I staggered towards her bed, wiping my wet, swollen face; and draped my arms across her, letting myself weep.

The two nurses stood beside the bed protectively, their hands still on the railing used to wheel it away. I wanted them to let go. I wanted the second degree murderers to walk away and never return, to leave us be. I wanted Rhea to wake up.

I wanted a lot of things.

I wish this was all just a terrible night terror, but to my dismay it wasn't. I wish she would wake up, act like it was some stupid prank, and we'd go back upstairs and act normal. We'd practice some martial arts and plot to escape, while making fun of Janson and painting our toe nails.

Maybe we'd even talk more about her family. Her brother.

Like a switch going off, a reflection popped into my head. I sniveled once, and then straightened my shaky posture.

I wrapped both arms around her body and ripped the sheet that clung loosely to her skin. Kind of weird, right? But it wasn't because I wanted to see her face again. I would never want the last memory of someone I considered my sister to be her deceased body being wheeled to a freezer, with eyelids shut close and no beautiful rhythm of a beating heart... It was the bracelet; her brothers. They would throw it in the trash, burn it along with her other clothes, but I wasn't going to let that happen.

Alistair tried to stop me, but I elbowed him off.

I managed to undo the small knot around her tiny wrists, and slip the thing off. I shoved it into my pocket, and let Alistair drag me away.

"You monster!" I growled at him, turning my emotions into anger now. " _You killed her!_ " Just like earlier today, I thumped my fist against his chest, hearing the satisfying smack as skin met skin. "I hate you!"

"Florence!" His voice was gruff, and loud. It startled me at first. He spun me around into a hold, and wrapped both arms in a restraint again. One was around my neck, the other my torso. "I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry!"

They started to wheel her body away and I started to scream again.

"No… no NO!" I howled as they moved past me. My legs kicked up, and my fingernails dug into Alistair's forearm around my neck.

"Calm down Florence!" He harshly murmured into my ear. I could feel his warm breath against my earlobe, and I shivered. "Calm down, and play along."

…what?

"What?" I said aloud, my voice cracking as I tried to suck in a composed breath.

His hold loosened, but he didn't liberate me. "The surgery was issued by Janson. He wanted me to keep her as a crank subject, do tests on her. I told him we needed to cut a diseased part of her liver out, but it was a lie. I put her under anesthesia by myself and I purposely didn't watch her vitals. I let her die. Peacefully. How she should have. How we all should."

I stopped kicking, and just relaxed against his chest. Alistair had done me a favor.

"That's what you wanted, right?" He whispered gently in my ear.

I nodded slowly. Sort of.

"Good. Now play along. He's sending you back."

"Who?" I asked, voice still breaking.

"Janson. Janson's sending you back."

 _Oh. My. God._

I whirlwind of emotions gyrated inside of me. I wanted this, I did, but the timing of it wasn't ideal. I just wanted to stay here. I feel like a part of me was left her because Rhea was. But she was gone, and there was nothing I could do.

I wasn't necessarily happy about the news. I just accepted it.

"Alistair! What happened to the lovely redhead?" The booming voice was more than recognizable. It was sick how nonchalant he was about her passing.

Still restraining me in the loose hold, Alistair spun around.

"Anesthesiologists weren't checking her vitals. She went under." Alistair lied. Finally, he let me free. And I huffed as I shrugged him off, gripping my forearm with my other hand. I span away from him, acting as if I was disgusted. The tears came naturally in my act, and I wiped my face.

"Hmm. I'll have to have a chat with them." He tapped a finger on his chin. "I actually quite liked her. Feisty little one. Now this is just perfect, isn't it? The three of us, all in the same hallway, at the perfect time?"

"What are you talking about?" I frowned, avoiding his eyes.

"Well, Florence." He started with a chuckle. "I've been meaning to have a chat with you. I've decided to be nice and give you want. So join me, why don't you?" He gestured down the hallway towards the elevator.

We all marched down the hallway, me in the front with the two of them trailing behind me like guard dogs. Minutes later, we were on the fourth floor in Janson's office. And I wanted to chuckle, thinking to myself that the last time I was in here I was trying to reach Thomas.

I took a set on the cushioned couch across from his desk, while Alistair sat on it, and Janson sat in the swivel chair by his workpad.

"Alright," He clapped his hands together gently. "Let's start, shall we?"

I sniffled, folding my arms across my chest to show my disinterest in him.

"So you want to be reunited with Group A, correct?"

I nodded.

"And I want you to be reunited with them."

Alistair shot Janson a marveled look, and I matched it. "Why would you want that?"

"The second trial has technically already started, as you may have known," He explained, locking his hands together and stretching them out on his desk.

I nodded.

"We've got most of the data we need form the maze, except for Thomas." He enlightened us. "We're still experimenting with all of them, trying to spike their killzone. We need to shock their system."

"And you need me for that?"

"Oh most definitely," He answered in a way that made it seem like I was stupid for not already knowing. "We want them to escape our facility."

"Why on earth would you want that…?" I asked, truly bewildered.

"Again, it's a killzone spike. We want to see how long they'll survive the harsh environments of the scorch; but we can't just drop them in there."

"You could," I countered, "That's what you did with the maze." I raised a cocky eyebrow, pressing my tongue into my inner cheek.

"We could, but we're not going to." He answered with an annoyed tone. "We need to create a kill zone path. The more spikes, the better. IF they gradually figure things out…" he made a motion with his hands, "You get the idea. Thomas Minho and Aris are already starting to suspect something; and their patterns are going crazy."

"I still don't understand what you need me for."

"Yeah," Alistair concurred, "Me either."

"You're going undercover." He announced, and in the most devilish way, a smile crept up on his face.

I made a face, letting my brows droop as I scowled at him with annoyed bafflement.

"They're the most prized candidates. We're messing with their brains, seeing what happens when they think they've seen you."

I still wasn't quite getting it.

"So… you're taking me to them, but not actually letting me see them."

"Nope," He shook his head. "Not yet."

The 'not yet' left me feeling hopeful, but also worried. He was expecting me to rejoin them once again. He was anticipating my future.

"What…?" Alistair said what I was thinking.

"They're already noticing weird things. They're escape is inevitable, and it's going to happen soon, and you're aiding in that. We're manipulating their dreams, putting you in them. They'll see you in the cafeteria, the hallway; they'll think how similar you look to Florence. Their brain waves will be going nuts."

"…Are you stupid?"

He gave me a mystified look.

"Janson…" I started, "If they see me in the cafeteria, they're going to know it's me. They're not that stupid. I'll look exactly the same."

"But that's just it!" He clapped his hands together, letting out a chirpy laugh. "You won't!"

"We'll cut your hair," He made a snipping motion, "Change your eye color," He pointed to your irises, "And voila!"

No… Not my hair. I groaned. Rhea would've killed me for chopping the brown locks.

"So what do you say?" He smiled.

"Do I have a choice?" I raised a brow.

"No."

I sighed.

"But remember something." His voice got graver, and he stood up from the desk, moving around Alistiar to stand in front of me. "Play along. Don't talk to A2. I want you to focus on Thomas, this time. And I want you to do it right. Or else."

I bit my lip.

"I won't hesitate to put a bullet in his brain." Janson threatened, "He's no use to the trials anyways. He's not a 'munie' as you youngsters call it."

 _Fuck you._ I wanted to say, but I didn't. He was letting me go, and I didn't want my chances of him letting me free be ruined.

"I'm giving you a second chance, Naomi." He shot me a condescending look. "You should be grateful."

I made a choking noise.

Janson smirked. "You talk to him, you even look at any of them besides the three, and he's dead. Don't think I'm letting you go out of pity for Rhea's death. I'm letting you go for the sake of experimental purposes— involving Thomas; although, I don't want you speaking with him either. I don't want you speaking to anyone. If you talk to anyone other than them, change your name. Go with Naomi. There will be eyes on you 24/7, don't doubt my abilities, Flo."

"Trust me, I won't." I scowled at him.

"Alright. It's settled. You're going, but on one other condition." He smirked devilishly.

"What condition?" I forced myself to ask.

"You wear this." He held up a plastic collar. It had three buttons on it and the clear material showed wires running through it. "For behavioral issues, of course. Considering you haven't been the most peaceful person, you'll wear this shock collar."

My eyes went bug-eyed. "You're not serious." I stood up.

"I'm going to be upfront and honest with you, Naomi."

"Florence," I corrected him, gritting my teeth.

He sighed while his eyes rolled skyward, "Same thing. Anyways: I'm not particularly trustworthy of you. Your loyalty is faulty."

"The feeling's mutual," I spat.

The crook of his lips quirked up, "Is that so?" He chuckled. I just glared in response, earning a sigh from him. "We make all the other cranks wear it. So you shall too."

I groaned, rolling my eyes. They stung, badly, so the motion made me blink profusely.

"Oh," Janson held up a finger, "And another thing."

Both Alistair and I sighed, this time. Janson caught that, and he smiled; but for what reason?

"You're still undergoing the same tests at our other facility. You'll be receiving ECT therapy, enduring in experiments, and a few surgeries as well, so don't think this is over."

"What?!" Alistair leapt up from his sitting position on the desk, which surprised me. He whispered something to Janson, but Janson waved him off.

"Alistair will also be assigned to someone else. Which means you'll have a new doctor. Doctor Sarah Thatcher."

I was more confused that annoyed. I scrutinized their faces, searching for any sort of emotion etched on their features, but there was nothing. Alistair just looked like a lost puppy, obeying his owner. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, one leg half-crossed as he sat on the table.

Janson was staring at me, probably waiting for me to say something , but I never did.

"Right," He clapped, "Off you go then." He waved towards the door, "I have people to see, things to do. I will be with you on the helicopter ride over, so meet me there in half an hour." He followed me out the door as I trudged to the hallway, hugging myself as I still reveled in the sadness of earliers events. "If you go to the last door on the left in this hallway, Harmony will be down there. She'll be there to give you your make over, or whatever."

I nodded, pivoting to walk away.

He held up a finger, "One last thing." I sighed, "Everyone's aware of your arrival at the 'safe haven', besides the subjects of course. So like I said, don't underestimate me."

"Affirmative," I replied in a sarcastically radio-like voice, pivoting again.

I could feel their eyes lingering on my back as I walked down the hall, and I glanced back briefly before entering the room. Janson was staring at me, not even averting his eyes once I caught him, and Alistair was whispering frantically to him, his hands making wild motions.

I shrugged, wondering what the hell was up with them, and stepped into the room.

"Good evening, Florence." Ah, finally. Someone who called me by my real name.

I nodded in greeting, giving her a warm smile as I moved to the only chair in the room.

The room was small, but spacious from the lack of interior décor and furniture. I had no clue what the purpose of this room was. Maybe it was an old office. There was a small table in the corner of the room, as well as a garbage can. There was a needle with an electric blue liquid in it, and beside there was a pair of shears and a handheld mirror.

Man, everyone was aware of my next destination eh?

She moved to the table where the scissors were, and I made a point to run my hands through my long locks one last time. I had no idea how short Janson had instructed to cut, so I kept touching the brown mane that fell mid-torso on me.

She gave me a gentle smile before moving around me with the 'weapon'.

She grabbed my hair, making a make shift pony tail with it in one hand, while combing through it with a hairbrush in the other.

I winced when I heard the first snip, and cringed when I saw a couple feet of hair fall to the floor. She kept cutting, and cutting, and cutting. The sound of the shears clipping my hair wasn't a satisfying noise in the least.

Rhea would've seriously killed me right now. She always loved my hair, saying it elongated my face, highlighting my cheekbones.

I inhaled sharply, trying to keep myself composed as Harmony snipped the stray hairs around my face, but that didn't stop a stray tear from escaping down my left cheek. It ran down my cheek, gaining speed with gravity, then hung over my chin before falling to the floor with a silent splash.

"Oh!" She squealed, "Are you alright? Did I cut you at all?"

"No," I shook my head, letting out a small laugh for some reason. "No I'm fine. Keep going."

"Alright," She nodded, moving the scissors to my head again. Damn, how much was she cutting off?

"Sorry that I'm taking away so much," She apologized, "But if it's any constellation, the short hair actually looks quite good on you." She snipped the last hair, then grabbed a mirror from the side table, holding it towards me.

I grabbed the mirror, my breath hitching in anticipation before the big reveal.

I exhaled loudly when I saw my hair. It was _extremely_ short. Like boy-cut short. I Wouldn't describe it as pixie cut, because my hair was a little thicker then what you'd imagine to be pixie cut, but It had the same length. It was actually similar to Newt's hair, maybe a tad shorter.

I moaned as I ran hand through it, feeling it's short length and cringing when the strands of hair only lasted an inch through my fingers before falling back on my head.

It didn't look terrible, though. My cheekbones looked more defined, and the messy style actually was quite cute. Maybe this was good. Maybe this would be a nice change for me.

I sighed, handing her back the mirror. She placed it back on the table and picked up the needle.

"Uhh…" I recoiled in the chair as she moved closer, "What's that?"

"Your eye color," She replied.

"What?" I frowned.

"It's your new eye color. Blue. It messes with the chemical composition in your irises, causes some sort of mutation and changes the color." She explained. "It'll only hurt a bit."

I sighed, knowing I had no choice. "It's not going in my eyes, is it?"

"Oh dear god, no. We inject it into the back of the neck."

"Alright," I nodded, moving my hands to the nape of my neck. I meant to move the curtain of hair off my shoulder, but then I remembered I had none.

She giggled when she saw that, and placed her hand on the back of my neck, moving me forward a tad.

I hissed a breath in when she injected the spine of the needle in me, without warning, and I breathed a sigh of relief when she took it out, placing it on the table.

I moved back to lean in the chair, letting my head rest on the leather, and waited till she handed me the mirror again.

This transformation was a lot more astounding then the last. My chocolate brown irises were now an icy blue. They were pretty, don't get me wrong, but they just weren't me.

"Holy shit," I commented.

She gave me a content smile. "Well," She started when I stood up, "You're free to go now, do whatever."

"Thanks," I gave her a small wave, although I wasn't that thankful.

The time in between going to the helicopter and finishing my make over was spent weeping in Rhea's room. She didn't really have any belongings, only the 'party pink' nail polish, but that wasn't worth taking to the 'safe haven' because they would confiscate it once I was through the doors.

The only belongings I took with me was her bracelet, and myself. That, and all the fighting skills she had taught me. I would continue to train every day, grow stronger, for her, so she could know that in the end, she did help me.

She not only helped me escaped, but she helped me survive, and continue to survive.

The helicopter arrived minutes later, and I greeted both Janson and Alistair there – as well as a few other employees like harmony— which surprised me. Assigned to a new patient, but still joining us to the other facility.

"Nice do'!" Janson commented over the beating blades of the chopper above us.

I just gave him a nod.

He moved his hand up to grab a small lock, but I swatted him away. "Don't touch me." I stressed.

"Fiesty," he commented.

I don't know what it was about the word, but it set me off. Maybe it was the way he paired Rhea's name with that adjective earlier. I shoved him square in the chest, startling the others, and wathed him stumble a few steps, his foot leaving dusty prints in the sand. "I hate you, you know that? I hate you!"

Alistair jolted to pull me away from him, but Janson held up a finger, moving it from side to side in a leisure ticking motion, like a metronome.

His head moved closer to mine, his lips cold only a few inches from my left ear. "I didn't kill her, you know that right? That's something you'll have to take up with the Flare virus itself."

I glared at him, my eyes going blurry from the amount of salty tears in them.

He moved past me, his shoulder checking mine, and entered the helicopter.

The pilot gave us a hand hopping into the elevator, and I made a point to sit as far away from Janson as I could. I was to the far right, Alistair next to me, Harmony next to him, and Janson across from her, beside another nameless employee.

I fluttery feeling of nervousness arose in the center of my chest when the helicopter took off and I grabbed onto my seatbelt as tightly as I could, causing Alistair to chuckle beside me. I glowered back.

"How you holdin' up?" He asked me, trying to not let Janson hear.

"How do you think?" I grumbled, wiping my eyes with my index finger.

He nodded, as if to say 'fair enough'.

It was silent for a second, but then I leaned closer to him, cupping a hand around my mouth and yelled, "Thank you," To him, which earned another nod. He knew what for. He shot me a crooked smirk.

I glanced back out the window and fished for the bracelet in my pants pocket. I didn't take it out; I just held it in my hand, inside the pocket, running the pads of my fingers over the bumps.

I glanced out the other window, and gasped when I saw the site.

It was vast, large, and far bigger than I expected it to be. But it looked so small from up here, and an aching feeling in my chest grew when I saw it. The maze.

It was abandoned, like an old dusty house. It read "WICKED: GROUP A" Along the side, and I could only just see the corner of the glade from my position. I saw the homestead and the lookout tree, and I froze, just staring at it. All the others watched me as I was mesmerizing over the true form of my former home. I just held onto the bracelet in my pants tighter, and sunk back in my seat, looking at the maze for the last time.

* * *

Somewhere between dusk, and night, we arrived.

The helicopter landed safely on the helipad, but that didn't stop me from clenching my fists and gripping the seat as tightly as I could. One by one we all filed out of the aircraft.

I was last, and I congealed in awe when I looked ahead of me.

This facility was _much_ nicer; and I was only looking at the outside. It was dark, but I could still make out the building's attributes, with the help of the fluorescent lights of course. There was a long cement path from the helipad to the front doors of the safety chamber. Lights lined the path like a red carpet, leading up to a rectangular building twice the size of headquarters.

The building buzzed with stimulation, even in the late hours, and numerous people stepped in and out of the building, wearing gas masks, security outfits, uniforms, or just carrying guns. Some took off in jeeps, riding the sand dunes like a surfer in the ocean, while others walked towards the helipad, awaiting the next arrival— or departure.

Janson led us up to the doors of the facility, glancing back at me every so often to see a reaction. He reached the security chamber and opened the large door by pressing down on the steel handle and sliding it to the side.

We stepped inside, and by then, Harmony, the pilot, and the other employee wandered off.

The room was claustrophobically small, with only three long tables, numerous people lining them, a hamper, and four bins full of fresh clothes, all different sizes.

What astounded me most was seeing that the clothes weren't white. They were regular, casual, ol' garments.

"Finger, please." I looked to the man who was speaking to me, and flinched when I saw the small needle in his hand. "Finger, please." He repeated the grey mustache flicking upwards as he finished his demand.

I handed him my pointer finger, which he pricked, causing a pool of small blood to form. He used his hand to flip my finger over, and pressed it firmly to a glass square on the table. A horizontal line of white light flashed from side to side before turning green.

I glanced around me to find the others, who were already getting their eyes scanned.

I followed closely behind them, and passed the eye test too. I had no idea what they were checking for. Maybe it was an identity verification. I rushed towards the bins of clothes, and was handed a pair of tight fitting blue jeans, sneakers, and a baggy light grey top. It was actually quite cute and nice fitting, but then Janson shoved a black zip-up sweater towards my face and I frowned.

"Undercover, remember?" he added the collar that he showed me before, and pushed it harder against me.

I snatched it from his hands and stomped off towards the changing rooms.

I joined them at the doors to enter the building when I was done with the collar (Which was mortifyingly ugly as well as itchy). Janson undid the other door, the same mechanism as the last one, and we crossed the threshold of a busy corridor. There was an open oval in the hall, which we stepped into. In front of us was: you guessed it, another door. To the left, a hallway with dorm rooms, all empty by the looks of it, and to the right, offices.

Alistair pushed me forward, and that's when I noticed that Janson had wandered off to the next door.

"Last one, I promise." He pushed hard on the steel handle, creating a horrible squealing noise. I braced my head, covering my ears as it slid open. A security guard followed us into the room, shutting the door behind us.

This part of the building wasn't as busy. There were three sets of elevators next to me. To the right, an open-concept cafeteria, lined with rectangular cement pillars, pull down metal doors (in case of emergencies) hanging above.

Janson didn't need to do any clarifying in the tour-segment but he decided to anyways. "Cafeteria… elevators… infirmary…"

We walked across from where we previously were and was met with a T-shaped corridor, one hall to the right, one to the left, doors lining each one.

He didn't tell me, but he gave me the whole run down on the 'safe haven' and told me where everything was.

I would do some exploring tomorrow, what else did I have to do anyway? No Rhea. No gladers. Just me, myself, and I.

 _' **ding!** '_

The alarming noise of the elevator caught my attention, and I spun around towards it.

Out filed plenty of workers and cranks wearing the same collar as me. It was weird seeing people dressed normally. There were a few workers in white, but they didn't say WICKED on them.

I saw faces, all unrecognizable, until the last one stepped out.

I inhaled sharply once I saw the familiar lean figure limp out of the elevator, the dazzling open-mouth smile etched on his face as he laughed at a stranger's comment.

He looked at peace.

The purple bags under his eyes told me differently, but I ignored that, for his brown eyes shown just as brightly, his smile was just as heart-wrenching, and the way he ran a hand through his blond locks was just as faint-worthy.

For a second, I thought he was walking towards me. I thought he had noticed me, but then he quickly bypassed me, turning down the right corridor towards the dorms.

It was kind of like love at first sight, for a moment, only it wasn't first sight; but that's sure what it would've felt like if I didn't have a panic attack coming up the elevator the first time I saw him. All other thoughts in my mind vanished as I saw the cute crinkles beside his eyes make an appearance, and the barely noticeable dimple in the middle of his forehead form. His limp looked worse now, and he seemed to be dragging his foot a bit more, which was oddly confusing to me considering the lack of physical exertion needed here.

Just as quickly as the feeling of butterflies fluttering vigorously in the pit of my stomach began, it disappeared, along with Newt around the curve in the hall.

My head dropped sullenly, and I thought of only one thing besides him in that moment: Rhea.

She had got me here.

Despite being afraid that she would fade into oblivion, Rhea had made a difference in lives. Maybe only one, mine, but it was something to be remembered.

 _"Rhea—"_

 _"No. Don't you 'Rhea' me. I'm helping you. Just let me help you."_

 _"Why is this so important to you? It shouldn't be. I'm the one trying to escape. I'm the one trying to get to my friends."_

 _"I just want to, okay? It's important to me. I just want to know that you'll make it back to your friends. To Newt."_

 _"But why?"_

 _"Because. It is. I feel like everything you've told me is the truth. I feel like I'm supposed to help you, to return you to your friends. I feel like I have a purpose. And I haven't felt like that my whole life."_

My gut twisted up at the thought of her. The last quest she pursued in life was helping me; I just wish she knew that she did, in the end. Unfortunately it took her death to trigger that, and I would give anything to trade places with her right now.

She was the best person I could have possibly known.

Her life consisted of ups and downs, twists and turns, exactly like a roller coaster, but she endured it like the friggin' trooper she was.

Because that was Rhea.

That was the story of Rhea Holbrook, and this was how it ends.

 _"I just want to be remembered. I want to be loved."_ And she was loved. She damn well was.

* * *

 **A/N: Guys... I don't even know what to put in this author note. Thanks for the reviews from like... so many people. Seriously. I read them all. I love you guys so much.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter, I also wanna apologize for hyping up them being reunited so much because... well... technically they aren't yet; but this will only last for a chapter or two.**

 **Thanks.**


	12. Blue Eyes

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner Trilogy. Just good ol' Flo.**

Thomas' eyes drifted across the room like a gentle wave; his eyes locking with a few objects, such as the security camera, the two-way mirror, and the small keypad beside the door to the right of him. He folded his hands in his lap, waiting patiently for his visitor.

Thomas was stolen from his friends the moment his eyes shut to go to sleep that night. A man he recognized to be one of Janson's lower employees shook him from his slumber and told him that he had wished to speak with him, so now, here he was, waiting patiently to talk to the man in a space that looked similar to an interrogation room— cement walls, two chairs, and a single table.

He had waited rather tolerantly to speak with Janson, but why had he decided now was the right time? Why had he woke him up just when everyone was about to sleep? What was so important that he couldn't wait till morning? Not that Thomas' minded. He was eager to speak with the man.

The door buzzed loudly, startling Thomas, and he massaged his hands together, watching as Janson stepped in the room, dressed clad in a white turtle neck and dark jeans. There were multiple papers in his hand, and he clutched them so tightly, like his life depended on it.

"Thomas! Thank you for seeing me," he nodded, shutting the door behind him. "Sorry for the inconvenience," He apologized while moving towards the table Thomas sat in front of him. "I was just hoping me might get a chance to chat in private… away from the others." He shot Thomas a sinister smirk, to which Thomas replied with only a nod.

He was still mad at this man for taking Teresa away from him.

"Don't worry," He groaned, spinning the chair around so he could sit across from Thomas. "It won't take up to much time…" He explained.

Thomas licked his lips nervously.

"I really only have one question…" He said, his eyes averting for a moment. He felt awkward in the silence following his words, and waited for him to continue. "What do you remember about WICKED?"

The question didn't surprise him in the least. In fact, he expected him, but Thomas was still deliberating with himself over what to tell him and what not to tell him, because truthfully he didn't trust the man.

Thomas brows pulled together, and Janson's face softened in response. "You're not in trouble," He shook his head once, "I'm just having a conversation; I'm just trying to understand."

Thomas' head twitched to the side slightly. "…Understand what?"

There was a low hum in the room from the fluorescent lights above, and they seemed to grow louder in the few seconds proceeding Janson's answer.

"Whose side are you on?"

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. That's what he kept telling himself. That's what he kept telling himself through all of this. It was right then that he decided that Janson was the enemy; someone who couldn't be trusted.

"I wasn't aware there was sides…" He played dumb.

Janson sighed through both nostrils, leaning back in the chair as if he didn't believe him. "Tell me all about WICKED, Thomas. Tell me everything."

Thomas hesitated.

"I asked the other's the same questions too, you know."

Oh he highly doubted that.

Sighing, Thomas gave in. "I remember that they sent me into the maze… I remember watching my friends die in front of me—" his eyes flashed up, just for a moment, to see if there was any reaction surfacing in Janson, but there wasn't from what he could tell. "I remember escaping. If the others didn't tell you already, I was the last one that arrived in the maze before Teresa. I wasn't there for long."

Janson nodded, his eyes dropping to the papers in his hand. "Oh I know, it's just good to get other views."

Thomas scowled at him, though he couldn't see. "I had friends die in there; people that will never come back into my life again. Do you know what that's like? I don't exactly feel like spilling my guts."

"I understand Thomas." He nodded once— slowly. "I got most of the information I needed from the others anyways."

 _Needed for what?_

"We're almost done, I swear. I just have a few more things to discuss." He assured.

Thomas nodded for him to proceed.

"Don't you want to understand it all, Thomas?"

Thomas frowned again. What was the man getting at? "I watched the video of the woman— Ava Paige" There it was! That name. It struck a chord in him, something. His eyes seemed to avert away immediately once he addressed her, and he started shuffling the papers like he had no interest in him anymore. "She told us what was going on, what was happening."

Instead of saying anything, Janson just shook his head, placing the pile of papers upon the table. "They had you there for years, Thomas, you know that right?"

The quick diversion of subject made Thomas believe he was lying. Janson saw that Thomas caught the glimmer of familiarity in his eyes and quickly varied the topic.

Thomas' chest leaned against the table, his hands still by his side while he tried to see what was on the papers.

It was his name.

His name, his blood type, his age, his hand print, thumb prints, doctor's notes, everything.

"What is this…?" He asked in a mistrustful tone.

"Your file," He explained. "They planned to go farther with you in the trials Thomas, did you know that?"

Thomas didn't reply, just kept staring at his name at the top of the page, with the words "Property of WICKED" above it, like he was some kind of animal.

"I want you to trust me, Thomas. I need you to trust me." Janson said in a soft tone of voice. "The world around you is much worse then it seems. Life is hanging on by a very thin thread, so those of us still alive need to stick together. WICKED is still in the works, you know that right?"

He nodded.

"Do you trust that this facility will keep you safe?"

He nodded fervently, then immediately knocked himself for it. The answer was too quick, maybe Janson could see through his lies. He didn't trust this place the second he stepped into building, but he would never admit that. "I'm just worried for Teresa."

"Teresa is fine," He sighed with an eye roll. "She's perfectly fine!" He clapped, "All that's wrong with her is a little internal bleeding, something from the maze most likely, it just took a little while to notice so when we did we had to give her a simple operation. The maze effected her more than the rest of you and she's taking it a little harder. She's been having night terrors, and been emotional unstable so all we did is move her to a room where she is a little more stable."

"Can we see her?"

"—NO…" He answered too hastily. "No. She needs rest. She'll be free tomorrow… the next day latest. I promise you."

Thomas nodded. He was doing that a lot, lately. It was the only way to answer his question in a calm demeanor, without showing emotion that Janson could feed off of.

Janson stood up, placing both hands on his waist. "I suppose we are done here, Thomas."

Thomas bolted upright. " _Thank God…"_ He murmured under his breath.

He opened the door to the hall for him, and gesticulated for him to exit into the hallway and return to his room. "Just remember, Thomas, trust is an important key in survival."

He felt like vomiting. The words made him want to upchuck they were so fake. He exited the anxiety-inducing room and poured into the hallway.

This conversation got him nowhere, it only made him want to leave the facility more, distrust everyone even further.

He stood in the hallway, processing his thoughts as he watched people pass by. He was surprised by the amount of people in the hall for eleven o'clock. He nodded at one of the fellow employees as they passed by, and breathed a loud raspberry as he ran a hand through his clean hair.

His feet finally started to move and he walked leisurely down the hall, taking his time as he thought. Janson's behavior was skeptical. He seemed to be on the anti-WICKED side, but other times Thomas swore he knew too much to not be a part of WICKED.

He was in the same place he was before the conversation started, only, if it were possible, he despised Janson even more. He didn't know what it was about the guy… he just didn't trust him. He lied, and he could see through that.

Thomas would tell Aris and Minho about this later. He should probably talk to Newt, as well. The boy was getting weird again, and they were afraid he was slipping into some sort of depressive state. He felt bad keeping things from him, but he knew that the moment Florence's name came up, or talk about not trusting their home, he would shut down.

"OW!" Thomas hollered when his shoulder collided into the rock hard brick-like arm of someone else.

Alistair. That was his name. At least he thought so. He heard Florence say his name before she died. He had seen this man not long ago, and here he was again. Let's just hope Newt didn't spot him. He would've lunged on the guy, he would've pounded his face in for shooting her; hell, Thomas would do the same because that was his best friend! But the other night… something had happened. He helped them, at least he thought so.

There were so many things to think about, in this situation. If he _was_ helping them eavesdrop… why? Why would he want them to hear the conversation? Was he against Janson? Maybe he knew that something wrong was happening in the safe haven, he wanted us to discover something. Or maybe it was purely coincidence, but Thomas had a feeling deep in his gut that told him it was not merely a coincidence. They two caught eyes multiple times that night, and Alistair never shooed them away.

Could he trust the man? He was still debating that… so instead of calling him out for all the things he did he just apologized for shoulder checking him with a simple "Sorry," and pretended not to recognize the man that shot his best friend.

Alistair's eyes widened as if that was the most alarming thing he'd ever seen. He made it quite obvious, too, and he whispered something to the small woman standing next to him.

They started to walk off at a quick pace, but not before talking a second to glance back in the now empty hallway— only him remaining in it now.

When he locked eyes with the female, he became rigid. His hands fell limp to his side, and his mouth hung open. He knew the girl, but he didn't know where. The familiarity struck him with such intensity that he wanted to cry out. You know when you see someone in public, and you can remember their face, but you can't recall where you've seen them before? Or who they are? That was the indescribable feeling that Thomas had looking at the girl.

 _I know you from somewhere…_ He thought to himself.

Her hair was short, very short, only a little longer then his. Her face was oval-shaped, she looked around the same age as him, and her nose was small and button-like. Her cheeks red, and her skin a perfect olive color. She wore a crank collar, which deeply dismayed him.

The most alarming thing about her was her eyes. They were a dazzling tiffany blue. They reminded him of ice. She quickly jerked her head back, and just like that, he lost sight of her around the hallway.

Where did he know Blue-Eyes?

Maybe this was just the memory loss messing with him. The Swipe was still inside him, and the feeling of déjà vu happened more often than not for the gladers. If it weren't for the fact that her eyes were so brilliantly blue, her hair was so short, and the fact she was wearing a crank collar, he would say that she could be Florence's ghost. Or sister. Ah, it was bugging him so much. He needed a better look at her. It was so brief, and so swift. That he really didn't have a shot to give her a good once-over.

He supposed seeing her again wasn't the most important task at hand. In fact, it was probably the last, exploiting this place and finding Teresa being the first.

Wow, his head hurt from thinking so much.

He yawned, once, loudly, and deduced it was time for bed.

It took him a minute to reach his room, and he attempted to open the door soundlessly, but Newt ended up stirring from his arrival.

"Sorry," he apologized slightly, hopping into his bunk.

"S'alright." The boy replied. "I was up anyways."

"Yeah?" Thomas asked, not really looking for an explanation.

But he gave one anyways. "Yeah. Been thinking is all."

"What about?" Thomas asked as he made a poorly-positioned yoga pose as he tried to slide his pants off.

"The maze. Everyone. Chuck, Gally... Alby, Florence..." His voice cracked during the last two name's, and Thomas knew that that wasn't intentionally. It was difficult for Newt to even mutter up her name. Newt never even talked about Alby. It was like he was compartmentalizing his emotions in such an unhealthy way, that he earely ever talked of them both. Thomas shimmied into his boxers and pulled the covers over him, listening to Newt's voice in the quiet darkness. "I keep thinking I'm seeing her face. I knew that sounds weird, but it's true. I'm dreaming about her constantly, it almost doesn't seem like they're my dreams."

"That doesn't make sense…" Thomas commented.

"Well… I dunno." He heard the boy exhale loudly. "Like they aren't my dreams. Like they're being planted into my head. I know that sounds funny, but s'true."

Actually, it didn't really sound that funny at all. If this place wasn't as angelic as it seemed, maybe they did have the power to manipulate people's dreams, but Thomas supposed that that was kind of far fetched and pointless…

"We don't have to talk about this. You can go to sleep." Newt muttered, shuffling around in his blankets.

"No!" Thomas exclaimed too loudly. "Shuck," He cursed himself, hoping to not wake the other boys up, "No. It's fine. Talk about it." He wanted Newt to talk about it. Maybe that would make it better.

Newt didn't argue, he just span into a long monologue about her. He envied the relationship they had had, but it was a dangerous thing to have in a world like this; example one being her death. Now Newt was left here, wasted away, barely living on without her, and to think he only knew the girl for a few months.

"Sometimes I think back to the days in the glade where it was easy and I would just lay in the hammock with her, or chase her into the forest, or listen to her irrational theories, and I realized: I had it good, ya know? Even if she did turn out to be bad in the end, I don't care."

"I don't think she was bad, Newt, at all." In fact, Thomas knew she wasn't bad, first hand. He knew what trust looked like, and despite only knowing Florence for a little while before her death, he knew that she was telling the truth. He knew because he saw it in his other friends. Chuck. Jeff. Maybe not so much Gally… but at one point he did trust him, after the Changing, he just didn't agree with his methods.

He heard Newt yawn, but contradictively, he didn't seem the least bit tired.

"You know what sucks?" Newt asked.

"What?"

"I think I love her." He replied quickly. "I didn't realize it till these last few days, which is weird, but thinking back to the glade, I know I must have. That must be what love feels like, right?"

"I don't know," He replied, his heart breaking listening to Newt. "I've never been in love."

Newt let out a quick, breathy laugh. "I think I love a dead girl. How bloody sick is that?"

The conversation ended there. They both respected the last line enough to not say anything else. He mourned for his friends, and he mourned for Newt, because he was basically dead inside. Hollow. Lifeless. The only good thing that came out of this conversation was a bit of closure for Newt. He was happy that he had talked about her, and not in a way of denial, or bickering back and forth about whether not she was a spy or she truly was trying to help us.

Thomas yawned one last time, feeling the effects of exhaustion kick in. He had only one thought on his mind before drifting into his much-needed slumber.

Who was Blue-Eyes?

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter. Thanks for the reviews from EVERYONE these last few weeks. They are actually so inspiring and so motivating, especially when you guys get super in depth and talk about your feelings in the chapter. So thank you for that. Thank you for everything! Enjoy!**

 **(P.S. If you didn't get it... Florence was Blue Eyes because her iris change last chapter. She might be referred to that in the next two chapters, just so you know.)**

 **Please drop a review, I'll be the happiest little fanfic writer ever :)**


	13. Gossip

**I do not own the maze runner; but I shuckin' wish I did.**

My fists were swollen and calloused, my knuckles bloody and red, because for every punch I threw at the inanimate bag of sand in front of me, I imagined Janson's face. Repeated blow after blow, I clouted the bag like my life depended on it.

I was so mad. So angry. I had no time to be sad over Rhea, over my friends who didn't know I was here; although the hole in my heart from my friend's death still remained there. All I could do was take my emotions out. That's what she taught me to do. And I was getting better, my endurance growing stronger. I no longer needed my inhaler between every step, because I had built up a tolerance, but that didn't stop me from huffing and puffing and using a savior breathe every now and again to relieve pain.

I massaged my hands together, delicately kneading them like I was washing my hands in a fountain of blood. The stitches from a few weeks ago started to ache, and I lifted up my shirt to see progress. A few had fallen out since Alistair last re-stitched them, which meant progress, but others were crusted black from tearing them slightly. I shrugged.

I had spent the whole day keeping myself busy. During the morning I had gone to the large garage this place had and practiced my shooting. I had only held a gun few times before, when Rhea taught me, and long before I entered the maze, but I could feel myself progressing, and that was satisfying. I familiarized myself with every single weapon WICKED had in the basement, I practiced target shooting (Which was still a little rough) and by now, I was pooped.

I headed towards the cold showers near my dorm room, which I hadn't had the luxury of using yet. No one came to this floor. It was only me and a few other cranks her weren't past the gone yet. They didn't let the others come up here, so I didn't have to worry about them seeing me.

I was mixed about what to feel. Did I want them to see me? Did I not want them too? I wasn't sure. What was best for them? For I? I wanted everyone safe; that was the priority. So if that meant following Janson' ridiculous orders then so be it. I still wasn't entirely sure if he wanted them to see me or not… It seemed like he was repeating orders, passing on a message. Could it have been Ava Paige who had done this?

I let the metal shower head above me hang loosely, spraying warm water down my body in whirlwinds of steam. It felt good to unwind. I could feel the painful cries of my calf's cease, I could feel the tension releasing from my arms, but unfortunately, hot water meant searing pain for the wounds in my stomach and back where my stitches were, and my newly formed blisters on my knuckles.

Halfway through my much-needed shower, an alarm started blaring.

It was loud, and the lights in the shower room went off, the only illumination from the sirens at the corner of the washroom.

 ** _ALERT. ALERT. ALERT._**

The automated voice over the PA repeated itself ten's of times, until finally, it stopped.

By then, I had a towel wrapped around my head and fresh clothes draped on me like a curtain. I ran out into the hall, my body still slightly damp, and I wandered to the end wear the elevators were. I dropped my towel in a hamper and pressed the first floor once the doors opened.

What was the alarm for?

The elevator dinged at my arrival, and I stepped out into the cafeteria, where everyone was eating dinner, to see that all of them wore marveled expressions like mine.

The most noticeable thing about this situation, besides the incisive chatters, was the lack of guards. I looked down the left of the hall, to see Janson sprinting, his jacket just being placed upon his shoulders, and to my right, a single guard blocking the doors to the front entrance and the entrance chamber of the facility.

I glanced back to the cafeteria to see everyone looking from Janson, to the guard, and then to me, as well as peering over at each other as they talked.

My eyes locked with Thomas' briefly, and I immediately averted my eyes, but not before watching him swat Aris and Minho then point in my direction.

I hadn't made the conscious decision to move my feet, my legs just did it for me. Next thing you know, I'm sprinting down the left, heading towards the right corridor to follow Janson to the medical wing. For what reason? I don't know.

A group of guards followed him, around a dozen, and they entered the medical doors, and I watched the sliding metal door shut behind them.

The guard beside this door was oblivious to me, just peering through the small three feet by three feet window to watch them continue their ascent. I tiptioed closer towards him, my hand stretching out wards his collar where his keycard was, and just as he started to turn back towards me, I snatched it from his coat.

"Ha-HA!" I yelled in his face, holding up the key card like a prized possession. For what reason? Id on't know. I quickly leaned past him, swiping the card in the slot, and ran down the hallway to follow the group. I could hear the guard's footsteps behind me, but that didn't stop me.

" _Check the left wing! They're headed towards the side doors!"_ That was Janson' voice. I couldn't see them ahead of me, because the hallway curved to the left, but these walls were very obliging to echoes.

 _"They're headed towards the basement" *Crackle* "Check the garage."_

That was someone over the walkie talkie.

 _"We can't let them escape,"_ Janson hissed, _"This'll be the last straw. I am **NOT** letting the right arm take them from us."_

I heard the footsteps slow, and then as soon as I caught up I saw the group divide into three. Part went left, part went right, and the rest came back towards me.

"Shit…" What was I even doing following them? Why was I so curious? Maybe it was because I wanted to find out why they turned off the alarm so quickly, like they were trying to hide something from the others.

Janson, still not noticing me, was stomping down the hall, his steps heavy and trudging.

I pivoted, turning back to the single guard still advancing for me. I whipped my head back to the group, then to the single guard again. I shrugged. One guard was easier to take then five, besides, this would be a good test of my skills.

I positioned my feet like an Olympian, ready to take off in a race, and in my head, I counted down to one. When I reached one, I booked it for the guard, trying to gain as much speed as I could before pouncing on him.

I smiled as I got closer to him, and he actually looked… frightened? I had never had that effect on people. Maybe all it took was confidence and a little practice.

Remembering the move Rhea did to me a long time ago, I attempted to replicate it. I used the wall beside me to sprung me up in the air, and once I gained a bit of air, I moved towards him, wrapping the thighs of my legs around his neck. I used all the upper body strength I had to lift a man twice my size and flipped him to the ground.

He landed with an "AW!" and I heard a crack. I groaned as I stood up, reminding myself to practice that more because I had also been bruised in the process. As he lay vulnerable on the ground, I retrieved the gun around slung over his back. No— not a gun. A launcher. I had discovered this today. Launcher's pulse out a grenade of electricity. If used enough, I'm sure it could paralyze someone and kill them. For now, I decided on just using the butt end to knock the guy out, stealing the weapon as I continued my descent away from him.

I was proud of myself, for once. I had learnt a lot— all thanks to her. I could defend myself. Maybe I could even defend others.

I pushed the large latch to open the metal door I entered through and stumbled back into the hall.

When I reached the cafeteria, I paused. Everyone was silent. The guard near the opposite door was no longer there, only a few chefs, and a butt-load of silent kind in the caf staring at me.

I coughed, clearing my throat, and started a leisure walk, the launcher slung over my back. I folded my arm across my chest, avoiding the hundreds of pairs of eyes, and pressed the button to go up.

I hopped in the elevator and turned around to press the button. Through the closing doors, I saw my gladers all scrutinizing in my direction, and I couldn't help but smile as the metal came together in front of me.

The first thing I did when I got up to my vacant floor was run for my room. I burst through the door, and analyzed the much too large room to hide my weapon for future purposes, like escaping.

There were the four beds, the top bunk closest to the door to my left was the one I slept in. All else that was in the room was a large vent, a table between the sets of bunks, and a large night lamp, beside that, a vase for decorative purposes, two dead flowers in place.

The vase. That was the only place right?

No!

The beds. I ran towards the bunk bed farthest from the door, on the right side, and ran to the bottom bunk. I lifted up the bulky mattress and tried placing the gun underneath. No. Too noticeable.

Ah! Inside the mattress.

I looked around for something to cut the mattress and came up short, until my eyes glued to the decorative vase. I karate-kicked it, wincing at the loud noise it made as it shattered to the ground, and grabbed a large shard of glass.

I went back over to the bed, cutting open the middle of the mattress. I slid my gun between the springs and fluffy material before remaking the bed, ridding the evidence afterwards.

I wiped my forehead.

"Well that was eventful," I said to myself. Somehow those words got me to recollect my thoughts and I thought back to what I had heard.

 _"The right arm." "Don't let them escape."_

Who could have escaped? Cranks? No. They didn't care if cranks escaped. They only cared about the mazes. Group A and B in particular. Who had I not seen in that cafeteria? Teresa. Teresa wasn't there, had she escaped? No. She wouldn't without Thomas.

The girls! Group B. They would definitely leave without Aris.

The girls from Group B had definitely escaped. I couldn't remember some of their names, I only remembered Sonya, a blonde girl around my age, Harriet, a darker girl who was highly intellectual and strong, and Rachel, I quiet girl who looked similar to me.

I didn't even know if those three had made it out alive. Maybe they were all dead, but some of group B had definitely escaped.

It made sense why they turned off the alarm— they didn't want the gladers to know. They didn't want people to be worried as to why they were escaping.

Something Janson had said earlier had struck me.

 _The Right Arm._

I had heard a rumor about The Right Arm, an organization plotted against WICKED and their cruel motives, but there wasn't proof as to whether they existed or not. There was also a rumor that Mary Cooper, a doctor who formerly worked at WICKED, led it. I knew Mary Cooper, not well, but we were familiar with each other. I remember seeing her randomly disappear one day, and Thomas, Aris and I thought that was odd, but we shrugged it off, never seeing her again.

Could The Right Arm be real?

If it was… that was my next destination.

* * *

Long after everyone had went to bed, I snuck out of my room. The locks were automatic, once one door locked, they all locked, but mine was faulty. Do you think I would tell them that? No. Obviously.

I was going to investigate.

Before the majority of the facility had fallen into a deep slumber, Janson had come to the top floor which he _never_ does. Unless it was important. Which meant he was still here, doing that important thing. I slipped my shoes off, and I winced as I heard a large electrical noise emit from my lock on my door. Because it was faulty, it worried me that I wouldn't be allowed back in my room and I'd get caught. I tiptoed down the hallway in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, slinging the hood over my cold head (the lack of hair really made a difference).

All that was up here was a gym, a few dorm rooms, washrooms, and a utility closet; so where could he have gone?

 _"They escaped through the side doors. It wasn't my fault. How could I have stopped that?"_ Aha! Janson.

I turned my head to his vocalization, and stealthily slid down the hallway towards… the utility closet? The door was creaked open, a bright light emitting from it in the dark hall.

I cocked my head, tiptoeing closer till I was at the opening of the door. I peered through the small crack in the door to see Janson facing a large projection of Ava Paige. The Chancellor. Someone who I once respected, but now despised.

"Try harder Janson, goddammit!" She slammed her fists against a table in the projection, one that wasn't in the closet, but it still made me jump.

I was curious as to where she was located, because I had never saw her at the other facility, nor this one.

"We are losing them to The Right Arm. Don't you get that?" She growled, her red lipstick dotting her perfectly pearly teeth. There it was again, The Right Arm. "Don't let Group B escape."

"I'm not." He hissed back, annoyed at her. "Thomas is the only wary one."

"Of course he is," She said, smiling like a proud mother. "How is the girl doing?"

"She's fine." He assured, "She's been restored. She's resting 3/4ths of the day, but she'll be up to full health soon." What girl?

"Good. Teresa seems to be between sides."

 _Oh God._

I stumbled back, losing my balance.

Both Janson and the Chancellor turned my way, but I darted back around the corner unseen.

"So what are our motives now?" Janson asked. "People are getting worse by the day; humanity is on the verge of extinction."

"Don't you think I know that Janson?" I heard the chancellor sigh. I peered around the illuminated doorway just so my eyes were popping over the frame to see. "I get it; which is why we need to speed things up."

"So what now?" he asked. "Force them into the scorch?"

"No." She shook her head leisurely, blonde strands falling from her loose bun. "I think it's time we initiated code 7."

Whatever 'code 7' was, it didn't sound good.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," She replied.

"So you don't want them entering the scorch…" He tried to clarify, his head dipping lower.

"Not at all. That's the last thing I want. I say we advance them as the next group to go to the basement."

The basement… that was the one place I hadn't been to. It was blocked off, and by blocked off, I mean there were hundreds of doors, and at least five guards outside. I had made a mental note to remind myself of its importance.

I could see a cynical smile grow on Janson's features, a smile that reminded me of the time he beat the living crap out of me. This was not good.

"So you want to sedate and harvest the subjects?" He clarified, smile growing wider. Sedate and harvest... Oh god. I knew enough about WICKED to know that sedating and harvesting meant they were doing extensive, painful, physically exhausting things to them. They would sedate them into a barely-living coma and do tests on them without their permission to speed up the process. They were really desperate. I wanted a cure for the Flare; but not like this.

She nodded. "But not yet," She held up a finger. "I've put in the request and I will have to wait until tomorrow to receive board approval. It should be fine, but we'll have to wait."

Janson bowed his head.

She started to walk back to her desk in the hologram, signaling the end of the conversation, but before she turned herself off, she held up a single finger. "Oh, and one more thing,"

"Yes?" Janson asked, seemingly eager.

"The girl, A11, get rid of her."

* * *

 **A/N: They want to get rid of Florence! Ah! Sorry about the short chapter and the long wait. I'm full time in school now so I don't have much time to write, which is unfortunate. I want you guys to tell me about some things you'd like to see in future chapters, I liekt ot ake suggestions. Also, I have a feeling you guys will really enjoy the next chapter ;) The wait is finally over...**

 **Anyways, thanks for all your continuous support.**

 **Thanks to darklou, LadyLocks, thegirlwholives, fiercetiger333, guest, SayYayToVacations, lotty-x, Guest 2, M, Guest 3, kimberlyleigh1999, guest 4, I-Can-Spell-Confusion-With-A-K, TSCxHG, and special thanks to AmyRoxx123 who left me the greatest review in my DM and is actually helping me push this story further along. Check her out, guys, she's becoming my beta reader as of next chapter!**

 **Goodbye for now fellow gladers!**


	14. Reunited

**I do not own The Maze Runner Trilogy**

* * *

My breathing grew shallower with every step towards my room. I just wanted to get back inside, and have a chance to think this new information through. But of course… the door was locked.

I rolled my eyes. Now it locks. What the hell was I supposed to do when Janson came back down the hallway? They even locked the bathrooms, which was unfortunate during the middle of the night. The only thing they didn't lock was the elevator.

Using my shoulder, I checked the side of the door. With every failure, I winced. After a minute, the door reluctantly budged open, just as I heard the clicking of Janson's old dress shoes.

The second I stepped foot in my room, I whipped around and shut door quietly. Falling back against the door, I sighed.

What the hell was I gonna do? I had to escape. I had to get out of here. Few days and I was already going insane. I wasn't going to escape without the others though, but something told me that they already had a plan to leave.

" _I'm headed down there now!"_ I heard Janson yell as he passed my door " _Don't you dare let them escape. Find them, find them quickly. I'm not letting them go too."_

Who else could he be talking about?

* * *

I was so proud of myself. I still clutched onto the small inhaler in the pocket of my white pants I was clad in but I no longer needed it anymore. It would help, but it really made me feel good to not have to use it, to endure without it's help. I didn't really need it again.

Except for right now.

Right now, I needed it like hell. I took three rescue breaths. Three. Then I continued my run down the hallway. My door budged open, only after the butt of my gun hit it repeatedly. My calves screamed in agonizing pain as I tried to push myself further. The second the elevator doors opened, the alarm went off again. The same from before. Sirens went off and the yellow lights flashed dazzlingly in my eyes as some of the daytime lights shut off.

"Crap." I breathed. I turned to the stairwell and quickly sped down the stairs. One flight. Two flights. Floor. I rammed into the push-door with my right shoulder, launcher in hand, and darted into the middle of the deserted cafeteria. Where were they? They were escaping. I had to find them. I had to find them at the perfect time so they didn't kill anyone.

"Hey! Miss! What are you doing out of your room—"

I jerked back at the jolt of the launcher as it went off, its electric grenade firing twice before hitting a man square in the chest. His body convulsed profusely before falling to the floor, unconscious.

The worst part about the launcher was that it was deafeningly loud… which meant I would draw attention.

I stumbled around a few times, pivoting back and forth. Where would they go? What would they do? What exit would they use?

SHIT!

If I was escaping… I'd need the Bliss. There would be no way for me to cross the Scorch without it.

I groaned to myself, knowing that I probably had lots of time anyway, and darted for the medical wing. Luckily, just the same as before, alarms going off meant less guards. Less guards meant it was easier to get past. I had no time for talking, no time to negotiate, no mercy, this time I just fired. I shot the pulsating grenade to the single guard protecting the medical wing, and hopped over him as I ran through the doors. I searched the first room on the left, but it appeared to just be an empty medical room. The next room I moved to had a bluish liquid sitting in tiny glass tubes on the counter, labeled 'The Bliss'. I just needed the gun to inject it with.

I bit my lip, twirling around the room hoping my eyes would magically scan across one.

"Aha!" I cheered to myself, noticing through the open doorway that the room across from this one did. I snatched it up, then ran back down the exit I came from.

Gradually galloping down the hallway, I noticed from my peripheral the security room, with only a single security guard in it. There were plenty of security rooms all over this building, the main one being next to Janson's office, but all of them has access to all of the cameras. I took a couple steps back, eyeing the monitors without being caught. There was no movement for awhile; until the very top left screen started to move. A few dark bodies passed through the screen, running past the leisure center in the building. I recognized that hallway, and i recognized the people in the footage; all too well.

Agh, there were so many things I needed to bring. I needed to find a backpack, that was what I needed to do next. Maybe I could grab a water bottle or two and then head for the others. By the time I was finished they should be past all the guards and heading out.

The backpack was easy to get. They left him in the garage for workers to steal whenever. I only had to shoot twice. The water bottles were even easier considering no one was in the kitchen. I ended up stealing a few, and I grabbed two apples, all that would fit in my little backpack.

I pulled on the straps of my backpack, tightening them, and I rocked back on my heels as I let out a organized breath of air.

Okay. This was it. We were getting out. I hope. Oh God. Rhea was right.

* * *

 _"ALL PERSONNEL TO THE LEFT WING. I REPEAT ALL PERSONNEL TO THE LEFT WING. WEAPONS READY."_

It's like they wanted me to escape. I smirked to myself, and let my feet take me there. I slid down the hallway, my feet squeaking with every step. I had four bullets left, but I had used one on the way to my friends: which left me with three.

I could hear the commotion being vocalized as I approached the scenario.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR JANSON." It was so good to hear my best friends voice. I missed Thomas.

"Listen to me Thomas!" The devil himself (Janson) tried to reason, "I'm trying to save your life!"

Ha, yeah right. Once I cornered the end of the hallway, I stopped. At the end of the hallway were the north doors. I could see them all, much closer this time. Thomas, Teresa, Fry, Minho, and Newt. Minho held a key card, repeatedly trying to slid it through the scanner but failing miserably. The 'ERROR' message popped up and the lights flashed red.

Thomas advanced towards Janson and his posy, launcher in hand. He threatened Janson repeatedly, who only stood still; hand's raised in surrender.

None of them had noticed me yet. I was hidden behind the small crowd advancing towards my friends. The hallway was decently narrow, and brightly lit. Pipes lined the ceiling, and sirens attached to them, flashing yellow.

"I only wants what's best for you…" Janson tried to plead in a soft voice. He moved past the bullet-proof shields his guards had and towards Thomas, to show how much he truly meant it. (ha.)

"Yeah?" He responded, licking his cupid bow lips, "Let me guess. WICKED is good?"

I snorted.

Janson dropped his hands and I could practically see the steam fuming from him. He relaxed, stomping a foot on the floor, and in a relaxed voice he said "You're not getting through that door."

As if on cue, the door opened. The keypad flashed "ACCEPTED" and a bright green, and the metal door slid up, revealing two bodies beside it. Aris. My Aris (who couldn't remember me). And Winston! Oh Winston.

"Hey guys!" Aris smiled.

They all transformed into a sprint, except for Thomas.

"Come on!"

"Let's go!"

"Thomas!"

He didn't budge.

"THOMAS LET'S GO!" Newt's voice sent shivers through me. So close. So close. I just had to get past the MASS hoard of people with weapons that were blocking my way.

Thomas jolted into action and started firing off bullets. One bullet. Two. Unfortunately, they both missed Janson, after that, the gun ran out. In a frenzy, Thomas threw the gun at them and made a run for it.

"THE LEFT WING DOOR—SHUT THE MAIN VAULT DOOR!" Janson yelled into his wrist, talking to his other personnel.

Everyone was sprinting now, even me.

I cocked my gun and fired it. Three more bullets. I shut one to the guy closest to me, which hit him square in the ass. The next shot hit the guy to the left of him in the hip. The next bullet hit the well and blew off a chunk of cement because I had slipped on one unconscious woman's pants fabric.

"Shit!" I cursed, dropping the gun; just as Thomas had. There were still 5 of them, including Janson.

Unfortunately for Thomas, Janson was a fast runner. He caught up to the boy and tackled him to the ground.

"NO!" I heard the others scream.

I smirked to myself. This was the perfect opportunity.

Janson started to let out a maniacal chuckle. He pulled Thomas up to a kneeling position and grabbed both of his hands to hold him back.

I breathed, taking a comforting breathe before taking the leap.

I took a few steps back, then started the run.

I breathed in and out routinely as my feet pitter pattered on the laminate floor. I used the other unconscious employee that I had just shot as a little bit of a boost. Like a trampoline, I used his body to catapult me towards the ceiling. I grabbed on to one of the long pipes that lined the ceiling and pushed my legs in front of me. I grunted quietly as I pushed my lower portion closer to Janson, my hands still gripping the rusty pipe.

I positioned my feet correctly and a millisecond later the bottom of my thin slippers smacked Janson square in the back of the head. I did a little somersault— for show of course— then turned to face Thomas.

I held out a hand for him, hoping he would snatch it up quickly as the man I had just knocked down regained himself.

"H-How… Why… I don't under—" He stuttered, still kneeling as his hand hesitated to move. "Your eyes… Your hair… I—"

"Come on!" I shook my hand, and then nodded towards the door. "I'll explain later!"

The door started to close. God dammit not this Thomas and I were again, holding hands, preparing to risk our lives just to squeeze through a door. Classic us."RUN!" I yelled at him, surprised he was slower than I was now.

The expression on his face was priceless, but I had no time to snap a pic or comment about it. Instead, I just yanked him forward, hoping we would make it in time.

I took my first glance towards the others, and their expressions matched Thomas': confusion, mouths agape, bug-eyed, murmurs to themselves. Minho leaned to Fry and whisper something, and Fry just shook his head.

"NO!" Teresa screamed, seconds before the door was about to close.

"WE HAVE TO SLIDE!" I yelled to Thomas.

He looked to me, giving me a look that reminded me of the glade. It was the same look he shot me before we sacrificed ourselves in the maze at night for Minho and Alby. His face was blank, but he had this sparkle in his eyes; like he was thankful that he wasn't alone.

I gave him a small smile, and at the last second, I swung my right foot under my left one and slid across the laminate floor. Our heads had just missed the door; but somehow we made it.

Aris moved quickly and bashed the receiver with a fire extinguisher so they couldn't open it again.

I expected Thomas to revel on the moment of me being alive, but instead, he released our sweaty hands and stood erect. He pivoted to the door, peering through the small square window, and held up his middle finger to Janson.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!" He screamed back through the glass, and Thomas smiled. The second he was done with him, he turned to me. Just as everyone did. I just sat there, my butt on the cold cement, my back on the chilling metal, and my clothes soaked in a mild amount of blood from the stitches ripping open. The whiteness of my shirt didn't help.

"Uh…. Hi?" I waved, shooting them an innocent smile.

None of them moved, none of them spoke, and they all just stared. There was an awkward silence for a while, and in the meantime I just wiped the dirt of my forearms, creating the only sound in the small garage we were in.

I breathed out a long-suffering sigh, standing from my position as I readied myself to explain. "Okay… I know this is all very confusing… I just want to start off by saying: I'm not a ghost—"

"Is it really you…?" The blonde boy I had grown to love SO much in the past few months stepped through the middle of the small mass, creating a divide. He slowed to a stop in front of me and analyzed my face.

I bit my lip as I allowed him to take time to process this. His eyes scrutinized every part of me, moving from my nose, to my cheeks, my body, my breasts, my arms, my lips, my forehead, and my hair. He raised both his (shaky) hands towards my head and ran a hand through the short dark locks.

"Is it really you…?" he asked one more time, his water-welled eyes finally moving to my blue ones.

My nod wasn't very noticeable at first. I just couldn't stops staring at him. My head moved up and down and up and down and up and down until he finally grabbed a hold of me. He clutched me so tightly to his chest that I never wanted him to let go. I never wanted us to move from this position. He tensed up and I could sense that he was trying to break down right in front of everyone; especially in a crisis like this.

When he let me go, he grabbed the sides of my waist.

"Florence…." He spoke quietly, calling me by my rightful name.

My face was tense, but the moment my lips parted to say his name, it broke. I stopped biting my lip, my brows fell down the side of my face, and I couldn't help but let the tears well in my eyes. I was just so happy he wasn't mad right now—so happy he wasn't as angry as before.

"Newt." I whispered quietly, a smile creeping up on my lips.

Before I even knew what was happening, I pulled him close to me, and pressed my plump, pink lips, against his.

* * *

 **A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOr tHE REVIEWS! So sorry for not updating... Just been so busy with college. Hope you enjoy this short chapter. More to come next time!**


	15. The Great Escape

**I'm back...**

* * *

The spark from the key pad Aris had smashed had lit up their faces, accentuating their shocked expressions.

"Come on!" Minho yelled, picking up a pack filled with flashlights and water from beside a hummer. "There's no time to chat!" he hollered, "We'll figure it out later! Grab what you can."

It took a few seconds, but the group shuffled into an awkward half-run, until they finally moved towards the door that seemed miles across the large garage.

"Wait!" I shouted at Minho. "I need this off!" I pointed to the black, stiff collar encompassing my throat.

Minho bit his lip, pivoting around, twirling.

"Here," Newt, who I hadn't even realized had moved from my side, came back with a set of rusty pliers with red handles.

Minho snatched it from his grasp, wasting no time, and moved the pliers to my neck. I shivered as I felt the cold metal hit my neck and I couldn't help but wince as I heard the pliers come together, and the collar snap. It buzzed, sparks flying from it as it faded to the floor.

"Are you a crank?" Newt asked, "Why were you wearing that?" I had only just noticed the inch long cut on Newt's face, starting from just below his eye, to his cheek. That concerned me. Must have been from their great escape.

The sound of employees filing into the room sent us into frenzy. I took a quick glance to the west side of the building, and then moved my gaze back to him. "No time, let's move."

"Thomas?! What's going on!" Teresa shrieked, as we all moved into sprint. Confusion smeared across her face. She looked just like the others, but more lost. More scared. Her face was filled with heavier trepidation then the others. Except, maybe Newt.

Newt, still stunned, was the only one who hadn't moved.

He was still frozen, still numb from the light peck. Still paralyzed from seeing me, from seeing all of this. The collar. The hair, the eyes. He didn't look like he truly believed it was me. He was apprehensive, but he started to pace after me once I nodded towards the others ahead, my feet slowly shuffling towards them.

There were sets of stairs above our heads, and we ducked from the yelling employees, as if their shouts were ammo.

A launcher grenade flew past Newt and I, and I grabbed his hand and ducked. We pushed our legs farther, and caught up to the others.

An explosion of electricity hit one of the white vans just a few meters from us, rocking it back and forth on its tires. The smell of burnt rubber filled the room, burning our nostrils.

"I don't understand!" He blurted out between respirations. "How are you alive? Why are your eyes like that? How did you get here?!"

I gave his hand a tight squeeze, "I'll tell you all once we're safe!" I vocalized, "Once we are out of here!"

Newt nodded, his lips finally closing. I could see his mind gyrating at all the possibilities, all the theories, the thoughts.

We were nearing the large set of steel doors at the East end of the building.

"Out here!" I yelled from behind them, pointing to the door.

Thomas was the first one to it. He paused at the door handle, staring at it like it was a foreign object. Every second that passed seemed like a minute. Our hearts were racing, our lungs were overworking, and our minds were slow to keep up.

He moved his hands to the red lever, and pulled down.

There was a loud screech of metal as the two doors split apart and a gust of wind following the doors opening seemed to sway us on our feet. The air was dry, and dusty. Bits of sand smacked our exposed skin. I moved my hands to shield my face.

The wind had picked up heavily, and nightfall was still among us.

"Thomas! Tell me what's going on!" Teresa shouted loudly over the wind, "Where are we going?!"

"Hurry!" I yelled at them, "Before they come!"

Thomas' eyes locked with mine, and he nodded. As if there was some unspoken command, the faction moved through the doors. We felt free once we stepped into the night, as if there was some imaginary barrier blocking the inside from the outside.

I glanced back quickly, one last time before exiting the building, and looked up at the stairwell.

Alistair was resting on the yellow banister, looking out of place as his other colleagues rushed past him, launchers in hand. Our eyes met briefly, but his expression remained impassive. I wondered if he knew that the Chancellor declared my bereavement. I wondered if he had felt any remorse from what he had done the first few days at my stay at WICKED. I wondered if any part of him, any part at all, cared in the slightest. As the others ran down the stairs to the right, Alistair moved leisurely to the left, back towards the building. He walked at a sluggish pace, and his eyes finally drifted from mine as the door closed to separate us.

Minho, beside me now, placed a hand on my back. "Are you okay?" He asked, his eyes moving to my bloody torso from the ripped stitches, "Do you need me to carry you?" I shook my head, jogging quicker to catch up with everyone. Minho was to the left of me, Newt to the right. His eyes never lifted from me, and I tried to ignore the stares, but I couldn't help but take a peak every now and again.

He looked so lost. I wanted time to freeze; just so I would have a moment to tell him everything was alright, that it really was me, and that I missed him and I was so sorry.

We ran past the helipad at the front of the building, our sneakers creating 'pitter-patter' noises on the cement, and started our ascent up to a sand dune.

It was a large dune, encircling the front portion of the safe-haven.

It was hard to hear the others' shouts over the roaring wind, but I imagined their shouts weren't far off from what I anticipated them to be, most likely words of encouragement to maintain their endurance.

Most of us had heard the mechanical noise of the steel doors opening once again, and we watched as guards poured out of the building like ants in a flooded anthill.

Thomas let a few of the others pass him, including me, as he took a moment to gaze back. Some WICKED employees rode out on ATV's, their heads churning to figure out what direction to take. It was too dark, and we were too far up to see now.

The climb was getting steep, and we all moved to crawl on our hands and knees.

"Thomas, let's go!" I hollered over the moaning wind. Small tornadoes of sand formed around us. The cold night air bit at my exposed feet, only thin slippers covering the base of them.

I had made the dumb decision not to pick up any extra clothes before abandoning the safe haven. I would take hypothermia over not seeing my friends any day, though.

Thomas finally made a motion to move again, and he waved me forward, pushing on my back to further his gesture.

"We'll lose em' in the storm!" He stated.

Hopefully.

I shivered, scratching at my head that was a lot colder than before from the lack of hair.

We had made it over the peak of the dune, and the ground evened out a little from there, only a few small dunes along the way. You could see for a few miles. You would probably be able to see farther if it wasn't for the flurry of sand dancing around us.

"There!" Aris pointed. I followed his gesticulation to a hill a few yards away. You could just see the top of a building, by the looks of it; it seemed more than large enough for us all to hide in.

Dead husks of buildings scattered the Scorch. I shiver ran up my spine again. This time, it wasn't from the icy air. It was from the vacant land that stretched for miles, showing just how alone we really were out here.

The shouts from the guards eventually drowned out from the heavy wind, but you could still see flashing lights from the ATV's and the launchers pass by every so often.

"We're losing them," Fry commented, his head facing the direction of those hunting us.

Teresa took the lead, looking more scared and frightened then anyone here, and as we approached the hill, she started to slide down it. I was last, Thomas and Newt ahead of me, Minho in front of him, and Fry and Winston ahead.

Part of me hated the pain as the bits of sand collided with my think skin along my cheek bones, the other part of me loved the fact that I was breathing fresh air and that I was actually shuckin' outside.

We all switched from running down the precipitous hill, to sliding down it—our butts skidding along the dry earth.

"Where are we even going?" Asked Fry.

"Come on come on!" Thomas urged, pushing fry forward as he switched from sliding to a running stance.

Teresa slowed as she reached the building. Glass windows sunk deep in the sand, two of them broken a few feet from us. It looked like they were sky-lights. The sand had piled that heavily along the side of the building that they were as tall as the skylights in this large building. The building was still pretty intact, besides the pile of sand engulfing it. It looked a little worn down, but whatever it had been before had helped it stay so long. It was a tall building, wide too. Teresa-with her black hair blowing wildly in the wind, glanced from us to the window. She hesitated for a moment, before stepping through.

Protests broke out.

"Teresa wait!"

"Don't go down there!"

"Wait for us!"

Thomas grumbled at her ignorance

"Guys come on!" She screamed back.

"Fine go, get in there!" He told the others, and we all followed in pursuit

There was a hill of sand leading from the skylight to the floor, and we all struggled to shuffle down it after her.

Teresa stopped, once she was back on her feet. Minho stopped a few feet behind her, and the rest of us behind him.

All you could hear was the working lungs, and the sand tapping at the window as the wind gusted past it at an unfathomable speed.

Minho frowned panting as he pulled his backpack off of him to retrieve a flashlight. He pressed he button to turn it on, and moved the torch around him.

"Where are we…?" He muttered, much quieter then the yelling from before.

The amount of light flowing from the flashlight, and the hasty movements he made; made it difficult to make out where we were. There was a bench near us. Beside that was a trash can. To the right, some sort of restaurant named 'The Flying-' something. The last word had letters missing from it, only D and C were left there, many spaces apart. Duck, maybe?

My eyes scrunched into thin slits as I tried to see past the darkness in the dim lighting. I could make out another store across from us, to the left. There were couches inside of it, and a flyer taped to the glass that said "999.99$!" Was this some kind of mall? Or a shopping center of some sorts? It must be. Why would it be so large?

"Ahem." Someone let out a sarcastic cough from behind me, and I pivoted to turn towards them.

I froze when I saw that the others had isolated me, leaving me a few feet away from them, while Minho shined the flashlight at my face.

My eyes ached as he moved the beam from one eye to the other.

"Ah," I groaned, "Gah," I shielded my eyes from it. "Will you turn that shucking thing off? Save the battery you slinthead."

"Yup." Frypan's voice from behind startled the group. "It's her."

I rolled my icy blue irises.

There was a long silence proceeding my eye roll, and no one said anything. I felt like a small mouse as they all examined my body. I must've looked a lot different to them. No hair, blue eyes, much thinner than before. The endurance while running must have surprised them, especially Minho who had to carry my half-dead body from the maze before.

"Is that the girl?" Aris asked, breaking the heavy silence in the room.

"The hoo haa?" I asked, making a faux angry face. Had they gossiped about me?

"The dead one?" Aris continued, his face turning to Newt, of all people.

Newt didn't say anything to Aris. His eyes didn't even acknowledge the boy. His chin moved down. Then up, then down again, in a slow nod. "I-uh… I think so…"

I sighed. "It's a long story… But I'd like to start off by not being yelled at," I held up one finger, "And not being shot at." I held up another.

"But… you're the one with the weapon." Winston pointed to launched slung around me still.

"Oh, shuck," I removed the strap from my shoulder, showing that I meant no harm and I really truly was Florence." I dropped it to the floor, along with my backpack.

"What's in the backpack?" Fry asked.

"Medicine." I frowned, wondering why that, of all questions, was the first one that popped into his head.

"For what?"

"For me." I responded, a little too quickly. "I-uh…" I didn't feel like explaining. Not yet. Not now. "It's for me."

"Why is your hair like that?" Asked Winston.

"Yeah," Added Minho, "And your eyes?"

I crossed my arms over my bloody chest. "No one's going to ask how the hell I survived? Or what I'm doing here right now? Because, you know, if I saw one of you with four bullet holes in your chest bleeding out and then magically appear right in front of me weeks later I'd be curious as hell."

No one said anything.

Teresa shifted her weight, her eyes moving from person to person.

I groaned, rolling my eyes once again. "The hair and the eyes were supposed to be so you guys didn't notice me." I pointed a finger at the tiffany-blue irises that felt so unlike me.

"You're Blue Eyes…" Thomas moved ahead of everyone, standing between me and the others on the sand hill.

"Excuse me?" I recoiled slightly, "Whom?"

"Blue Eyes." He started, a small smile forming on his face, "I saw you. You were walking with that man, the one that shot you."

"Alistair," I provided for him.

"Yeah! Alistair," He stabbed a finger at the others, "See! I told you. I told you she was still alive, I told you it was her in my head."

My eyes widened, and I took a step towards Thomas. "You heard that?"

"Yes!" He responded happily.

"I got electrocuted for that. At least now I know it was damn well worth it."

Newt winced. I caught the small motion from my peripheral.

"E-Electrocuted…. Why?" Newt stuttered, still apprehensive of me. Was he sad? Mad? Happy? All of the above?

"They-uh…" I gulped loudly, averting my eyes, "They liked to do tests on me and stuff, so how I'd react.." I bit my lip.

Newt's eyes went vacant, falling to the floor as he got lost in his own thoughts.

"That's why I need these babies," I held up the bag of stolen 'Bliss'. Technically I wasn't lying. I did need the Bliss in order to help me survive, but it wasn't for the wounds. That medication I had left behind. That medication I could do without.

"The collar?" Minho asked, "Is that why they made you wear a crank collar?"

I shrugged, "Just for punishment, I suppose." Again, not completely a lie.

"How did you survive the gun shots?" Aris asked from behind, surprising everyone. Someone, who wasn't even there, was asking the most logical question in this situation. "And is it true that you had your memories?"

I smiled at Aris. A gentle, closed lipped smile. "I remember you," I told him. "From before the trials."

His eyes seemed to dance around, before finally settling down on me again.

"You were the one who said I should go in the maze. You said that Janson wanted me in there."

"I umm…" He started, "I kind of feel guilty for that. But I mean-"

I shook my head, "No. No it wasn't like that. We were good friends Aris. Almost as good and Thomas and I. I never talked much to Rachel. But you two were really close before the maze."

I saw his body stiffen, and his posture tighten. "She didn't make it."

I nodded respectfully, biting my lip. Rachel was a sweet girl, with a lot of potential. WICKED would pay for all the lives lost. Alby, Ben, Chuck, Rachel…

"The bullets Alistair shot me with were neurostim darts," I explained to everyone. "They just stun your body and release a blood-like liquid. I went numb, I fell paralyzed. I had no way of telling you guys that, but I heard you all leave."

They all expressed looks of guilt, but I couldn't blame them. How could they have known? I would've left too.

"Thomas said you tried to tell us." Newt looked more coherent now, more aware. His brows knit together and he crossed his arms. "He said you tried to talk to all of us about it, about your memories, but you couldn't. Shank said you could only tell him."

"Yes. Yes he's right. I know I have no way of proving that, but I'm here now aren't I? I went through hell to reach you guys." I could feel the tears welling up at the corners of my eyes, and I gave a weak smile.

Newt's face softened, and he ran his thumb along his bottom lip as he listened.

"I tried so many times. I would get these massive migraines…" I raised a hand to my head, "They would be so painful I couldn't think straight. I'd try to get words out, try to get something out, but I couldn't. It's like I had forgotten how to speak. I could think of what I wanted to say, but I couldn't physically say it. I tried writing it down. I tried yelling it out before the migraine hit, but it wouldn't work."

"Why were you allowed to tell me though?" Thomas pointed to himself.

A large rock had hit the glass skylight beside us, and we all looked briefly, before continuing the interrogation.

"Someone, a scientist or something, matched us to be compatible. You were their favorite candidate Thomas. They only brought me in because I was a survivor. They matched us to be compatible lovers, or whatever, to alter your killzone-er your brain patterns- and then they swiped my memory, way before all of yours. They swiped it, filled it with false memories. They made me believe that my recollections were my own; but they weren't. I'm just as shuckin' lost as the rest of you."

"Gross," Thomas made a face, sticking his tongue out.

I shot him a glare.

"How did you find us Florence?" Teresa was the first one to say my name in a while, and it made me feel weird. No Naomi anymore, only Florence. It felt right.

"Like I said, I went through hell to find you guys." My eyes move to the small bracelet on my wrist. I played with it, twirling it around. "I watched people die. Good people." Darren. Dean. Cassandra. My Rhea. I shut my eyes for a brief moment, than shook the feeling off. "I was tested, past my limit. I started training with a friend. I wanted to learn how to fight. Eventually, Janson agreed to let me come to this facility, but he told me I couldn't see you guys. I knew it would be risky if I exposed myself, and I knew he would lock us all up if that were the case." I licked my lips, starting to feel flooded with anxiety. "So I waited. Only a few days, until you could figure it out for yourselves-and you did; like I knew you would. And now here we are." I gestured around us, twisting from side to side.

"Not to sound rude or anything Florence… but uh… what the shuck is up with your face? And the blood?" Minho asked hesitantly.

"Oh," I had forgotten about my bruised features from Janson's beating a few days ago. They had faded quite significantly in my opinion. "That was Janson." I gestured to my face. "This was a partial nephrectomy." I pointed to my bloody stomach.

"Partial nephrectomy?" I barely heard Minho. I was so focused on the way Newts fists tightened at Janson's name, and the way his jaw clenched in anger.

That was enough to show me he still cared.

"They removed part of my kidney," I enlightened them.

"What!" He said in a highpitched voice, "Why?!"

I shook my head, waving an arm at him, "Doesn't matter. What matters is that we need to get you guys safe. We aren't okay here. We need to move further into… whatever this is."

"Wait wait wait." Newt spoke softly, "We have so many more questions."

"I'll be happy to answer them, as we move," I hiked two thumbs over my shoulders. "Because they're looking for all of us. Including me."

"Wait." Teresa yelled, a little too loudly. "Wait… I still don't really know what's going on."

"It's WICKED." Thomas answered. Where was Teresa? How had she not known? "Me and Aris… we found bodies. Too many to count."

"Dead bodies…?" Minho cocked a brow, is breathing hasty.

"No dufus, a body of water." I frowned at Minho, who rolled his eyes.

Minho rolled his eyes. "I definitely didn't miss your snarky remarks."

"The feeling is mutual, my friend," I placed my hand on his brawn back and rubbed it, moving into the small circle that was forming.

"They weren't dead…" Thomas pondered, getting more serious, "But they weren't alive either."

I bit my lip. "They were harvesting you."

They all glanced in my direction

"Basically they put you in a comatose state, almost kill you. Most of the time you do die. I heard Janson taking to Ava Paige. You remember the woman in white, right?"

They all nodded, a few 'yes's' breaking out.

"They were running out of time. They were scared of the Right Arm. Group B escaped to go find them. They wanted to speed things up, harvest you all and study your brains in a more secluded environment where they could experiment on you without having you fight. It would most likely kill you, though." I elaborated.

"Who's the Right Arm?" Winston mumbled softly.

"Yeah," Thomas added, "Me and Aris heard Janson talking about it too."

I shrugged, "To be honest, I'm not sure. They kept me in the dark about a lot of things. Like the maze, for example, I never knew how to escape it. I only heard a rumor about them, a long time ago. One of the former doctor's at WICKED formed the organization. I don't even know if it's a real thing. The doctor, Mary Cooper, I remember her disappearing, but I don't know if it was to plot against WICKED. All I know is that we need to get away from WICKED as fast as possible. They all wanted to send you in the Scorch as another trial. They changed their minds, and now they're gonna be on our asses for God knows how long."

Newt nodded, placing his hands on his hips. "Okay… so whats the plan?"

Thomas looked at the blonde boy, shaking his head, still panting.

"You have a plan. _Right?_ "

Thomas remained silent.

Newt grew angry. "Well we followed you out here Thomas… Now you're saying you have no idea where we are going or what we are doing?!"

I wanted to hold him. I wanted to calm him. I wanted to reassure him that Thomas was right. The luxury of eating real food, sleeping in a real bed, being safe, had been taken from him as quickly as it was gifted to him. It wasn't fair for any of them.

Thomas licked his lips.

Aris cleared his throat. "Well what if we go after the Right Arm?"

I hadn't thought this far. After escaping, then what? I go crazy from losing the Bliss? Eventually they'd find out I was going crazy. Sure, I wasn't any harm to them now, but what about when I ran out? What about when I started to snap on them? I guess all there was to do right now was find a distraction, make sure they were safe before I met my demise.

That distraction was the Right Arm, and we were going to find them.

"If they're really against WICKED, maybe they can help us." Thomas suggested exasperatedly.

"So what… That's your plan? Head for the mountains?" Newt raised a condescending brow and moved towards Thomas, a threatening stance taking form of his body.

Thomas gave Newt an apologetic look. "It's the only chance we have."

There was an unnerving silence, until Winston cleared his throat. "Hey guys! Check this out." We all turned to see that he had exited the circle, and was a few steps ahead of us, right knee to the ground. "Minho, give me light."

We all followed Minho as he moved towards Winston, shining light to the floor where Winston was pointing.

"What is it?" I asked from the back of the pod.

Fry moved beside Winston and moved his hand to touch the sand. It was then that I saw the set of fresh footprints in the sand. "Someone's been down here."

I glanced to Newt, who just gulped loudly, his eyes only catching mine for a second.

Fry moved his hand to touch the sand again, and he massaged it between his finger tips.

"I say we split up, see what we can find. We're going to need warmer clothes anyways. See if we can find any food, water maybe." I tightened my grip on my backpack strap.

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Thomas agreed.

"Well wait," Teresa passed, turning towards me. "What do we do with you?" Her eyes drawled over me and I shot her a surprised look.

"What do you mean, what do we do with me?" I asked, genuinely confounded.

Teresa's dark brows pulled together. "Well are we just supposed to trust you completely again? I mean I'm not saying what you said was a lie, but how are we so sure it's the truth? How do we know any better?"

I had to admit, I wasn't surprised someone was bringing this up—but I also wasn't expecting it to come from Teresa either. She had only been in the Glade a few days.

Minho sighed. "She's right, slinthead." He took a few steps closer to me. "I hate to say it, but she's right. What if you're spying on us or something?"

I looked to Newt, who just watched. He looked so conflicted.

I shook my head, giving in, "I can't say this surprises me. I understand why, but I don't know how to prove to you that I really am true to my words." I licked my cracked lips, still tasting rust from the split lip Janson had given me.

"So what do we do, then?" Fry asked, turning to Minho.

"Someone stay with her 24/7. We need to watch her constantly, and we'll have to search your pack later, make sure there's nothing in there." I nodded, and he continued. "If we sleep, we'll have to take shifts, but someone will have to be up with you during your shift. I'm not saying I don't trust you Florence, but there's still a lot of questions we have, and obviously for given reasons it's hard to trust a shank like you."

I took no offence to his words, but it still sucked. I sighed, nodding.

"I gotta say though," he added, as the others started to move deeper into the vacant mall. "I'm glad you're alive Flo, I really am." Minho shot me a wink, and spun towards the others.

I gave him a gentle smile, although he couldn't see, and then faced Newt.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I had the chance, he placed one finger over my lips, signaling me to be quiet, and went "shhh".

He grabbed my stolen launcher off the floor for me, and wrapped one hand around my wrist; dragging me away from the others. "We need to talk," he said.

I had never been so happy, nor terrified, to hear those words coming from his mouth.

* * *

 **N/A: Lot's and lot's of fluff next chapter because I made you wait, like, almost a year. Please let me know what you think, it encourages me to write more :) Thank you for the continuous support through this long hiatus it means the world to me. Anything you folks would like to see?**

 **-outlook96**


	16. Loyalty

**I own only miss Florence.**

* * *

You could still hear the wind whipping past the broken shards of glass in whatever abandoned store we were in. It was the only sound besides our crunchy footsteps along the sand-plastered floor.

With my hand in Newt's, I trailed after him.

My fingers were loosely curled within his, which told me this gesture wasn't in anyway romantic; but the skin to skin contact (even if it was covered in sand, making our fingers gritty) was still enough to make my knees a little weak.

Where were we going?

I hadn't realized I said the question aloud until Newt answered, breaking the silence between us.

"Trying to find medical supplies."

I nodded to myself, letting him tow me this way and that.

We made it to the rear of a store; slowing to a shorter pace in some sort of storage room. It was difficult to tell what this place previously was, but somehow Newt managed to find bandages and saline solution. I could see Fry a few meters from us, shining miscellaneous objects with his flashlight.

"So…" I started, trying to break the awkward tension between us.

He grabbed both of my shoulders and spun me away from him. He gathered his supplies next to him on a small, dirt-swathed table.

I sat on a nearby chair; placing my backpack on the floor. It's wooden splinters dug into my boney figure. I readjusted to try to make myself comfier, but it was no use really. Each way I turned was prickly.

"Take your shirt off." He ordered, in an unyielding tenor. One I only ever heard him use with gladers that had misbehaved, like Marcus. I wonder where that fellow was. As much as the shank bugged me, we left on a civil note; I hoped he was still alive.

I did as he requested, hoping sarcasm might light up the perplexing mood he was in. "This is not exactly how I imagined this to go down in my head," I turned around to wiggle my eyebrows at him.

I heard Frypan snort, which earned a scowl from Newt, and he started to saunter away towards the front of the store.

I did as he said, eventually though, knowing he wasn't in the mood to play around. He wanted answers.

I stripped my jacket off of my shoulders; wincing at the slight pain it caused my abdomen. It was a sharp pain, one that only lasted a few seconds, but still enough to cause me to gasp lightly.

"You know what this reminds me of?" I started, placing the jacket on my lap while he wet a cloth with saline. "Back in the maze, when we dragged you back in. When I cleaned you all up."

I heard Newt gulp loudly, and then he sighed. "Don't talk like that…"

I was about to question him, but he suspended me before I could.

"Don't act like nothing's changed… like you didn't buggin' _die._ " There was a hint of acid in the last word, which made me flinch.

"I didn't…" I responded, muttering it mostly to myself. I was surprised he actually heard me though.

"Do you know what ** _hell_** I've been through without you? Especially after you promised me that we'd make it back together? Only to have you buggin' ripped from my grasp and murdered right in front of me?"

"Newt I—"

"I see it, every night too. It's horrid. It plays, over and over in my head. Four shots. Bang bang bang bang. I see your last breath wither away in my arms." His eyes looked very empty. Very lost.

"Boy, you should write a book," I commented on his choice of words; trying to conceal the culpability I felt for something I couldn't control.

"S'not funny." He growled.

I peered around in the chair to see him tearing up. He tried to hide it by fiddling with the cloth in his hands, but I instantly felt terrible for making the joke.

"Take off your bloody shirt, Florence." He heaved a sigh.

I smiled, shutting my eyes. So good to hear that voice again; that accent. It made me feel at home.

"What? What's with the smile?" he asked, curling his fingers under my tank top once he realized I had made no effort to complete his request.

I shook my head, my eyes opening again. "Nothing. Its-nothing. I'm just happy to hear your voice again."

He sighed again. "I don't know whether to kill you or kiss you."

"I'd like the latter," I commented, smiling up at him.

It was the first smirk I had earned from him all night.

I winced as he peeled the crimson-stained tank top from my body, and I exhaled loudly as my arms fell back to my side.

My back was still turned to him, but I peered over my shoulder when I heard him gasp sharply.

His warm hands moved to touch my cold back, and that's when I understood. He was looking at the bruises, the scars, the blemishes. He was scrutinizing over the evidence of torture I had endured in. It abetted the large disfigurement of my leg.

I could feel the pads of his fingers graze over a long scar on my back, and it made me shiver under his touch.

"What did they do to you…" he breathed, barely audible in his trance that he was stuck in.

The bruises, the sizzled flesh, the pain, somehow it all felt better under his warm touch. He kneeled behind me to get a closer look.

We were silent like that, for a long time, until I felt his clammy forehead rest against my right shoulder. Closed my eyes. What must have been a painful moment for him was actually a blissful moment for me. "It's nothing, Newt." I reassured him, closing my eyes.

"It's not nothing," he muttered angrily into my shoulder. Our skin to skin contact broke, and he replaced his head with his fingertips once again, feathering lightly over my healed wounds. "They ruined you, Florence."

I bit my lip, "Well now you're just being melodramatic."

I saw him shake his head in my peripheral. "I could tell as soon as I saw you. You're thin. Much thinner, then when I last saw you."

I crinkled my nose, "The food WICKED makes is terrible."

He sighed in frustration, but managed to breath out a small laugh. "I'm serious," he said, more monotone. "You've lost an unhealthy amount of weight. You're practically a skeleton."

I shrugged, not having noticed it before.

" _So many scars…_ " he breathed, mostly to himself. His fingers traced along a bumpy scar to the left of my spine, a smaller one that I barely felt, and his eyes dawdled up my spine, until they reached my neck. And then his fingers finally lifted.

I pouted, liking the touch he had given me, even if it were only to examine me; as oppose to something in the romantic sense

"Right," He initiated, "Let's get you cleaned up."

"I'm just a mess without you, Newt" I said in a faux sexy voice, turning around to bite my lip at him.

He rolled his eyes, "Don't tempt me, girl." His eyes glanced to the left, where a long white, counter was. "Lie down on the table, it'll be easier."

I nodded, grinning. I moved from the chair to park myself on the countertop in front of him, and then swung my legs to lie down.

I shivered when I felt the cold stone hit my back.

He moved the damp cloth to my stomach, which I hadn't even got a good look at yet.

It stung, only slightly though. Nothing compared to the beating Janson had given me.

"Did you really have part of your kidney removed?" He asked with genuine curiosity as he aided to my injury.

I nodded

"Why?" he asked, ringing the cloth out on the floor.

I hissed when the cold cloth, with fresh saline moved back to my stomach.

I shrugged, "Tests n' stuff, I suppose."

"Aren't your kidneys near your back, though?" He cocked a brow, wiping up the last of the blood.

I frowned, looking down at my wound. "Hmm, yeah." I nodded, "You're right. Tough access maybe? Or maybe they took out something else? I don't know."

He raised the other brow, to match the previous one. "How come you're so blasé about this?"

I sighed, relaxing against the countertop when he moved a dry cloth to the wound. "It's like I said before, I told Janson he could do whatever to me as long as I got back to you guys."

"I'm surprised he kept his promise…" Newt muttered, patting the rag.

"He didn't," I disputed, "I mean, he brought me closer to you guys, yeah, but the Chancellor actually told him to get rid of me a few hours ago. Guess they didn't need me anymore."

Newt paused to look at me. "So they were gonna kill you?"

I nodded, "Probably will as soon as they find me. I got away in time, luckily."

Newt licked his lips, closing his eyes briefly, like he was talking to himself internally. "I won't let that happen. Trust me, I'm not losing you again." His eyes snapped open again, and he dried up the last of the liquid on my wound.

I had heard him say that last phrase so many damn times, that it almost hurt to hear it again. He had done everything in his power to protect me, and in return I just kept leaving him. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not.

"The bleeding seems to have stopped," He removed the cloth from my skin. "I'll have to look around for some gauze and stuff. I think I saw a first aid kit in one of these drawers, you just sit tight."

"Thanks Newtie." I grinned up at him, and he rolled his eyes.

I placed my hands on my belly and waited for him to look.

"Yep, definitely didn't miss that nickname." He commented as he rummaged through the drawers beneath me. I felt the vibration from his movements wash over my bare body.

There was a long pause, and he could tell I wanted to say something because he kept glancing up at me.

"What _did_ you miss about me..?" I finally said, quiet as a mouse.

Again, another long hiatus, and he seemed to be vanished in his own thoughts, delving into his mind for terms to say before actually saying them. "Everything." He replied, standing from his previously knelt position. He placed an already opened back of bandages on the counter.

I sat up from where I was, being careful not to hit my head on the cupboards.

He sighed, before locking his brown eyes with my blue ones. He was hesitant to touch me at first, but he placed his hands on my hips after a few brief seconds. "I missed your voice… I missed your warmth."

"My warmth?" I cocked my head, my lips quirking up into a buried smile.

He nodded. "I missed just laying with you in the hammock, back in the glade. I missed the contact. I missed your breathing. I missed waking up in the middle of the night knowing that I wasn't alone in the room, that there was someone next to me; you. I can't bloody stand Minho's snoring and Thomas' constant movement in his bunk back in the safe haven."

I glanced to where his hands were on my hips, and let out a weak smile. I had wished I was with them to relax those few days at WICKED's other headquarters, even if they weren't really safe. I had to admit; I was with Newt. I kind of wished we were back in the glade too. Life seemed so much simpler then; less complicated. All we had to worry about was escaping.

"I missed your hair," he continued, moving a hand to touch my short locks that I was recently sporting, "And your eyes."

I looked up to meet his, and we froze for a instant, feeling comfortable in the placate of each other's eyes. "You'll get used to it," I shrugged, glancing back down to my lap.

"No I love it, I do." He reassured.

His hands moved from my right hip, to my arm, to my wrist. Then finally, I felt a small tug on the braided bangle around my wrist.

My heart started to slam against my chest, feeling almost as if it were about to burst out of my rib cage. I was protective of the bracelet. It was the only belonging I really had. The only item that I felt possessive of, because it belonged to _her._

I snatched my arm back, in a polite manner, but one that still startled Newt, and gave him a faux, closed-lipped smile to tell him that 'everything was alright' despite my aforementioned action.

He gave me a curt nod, and then sat down in the chair in front of me. He spun it so it faced the wrong way, and pressed his chest in the back of the chair, while his legs were on either side of it spread apart.

"That man… Alistair, right?"

I bobbed my head up and down.

"He—did he do any of that stuff to you? Like Janson?"

I bit my lip.

"Tell me," He urged, scooting his chair closer. I could see the fire in his eyes. The anger. He truly despised this man, it was obvious by the way his right eye twitched ever so slightly, by the way his fists tightened into balls, and by the way his jaw clenched.

I shrugged. "It's hard to explain. When I first got there the dude was a complete dick. He did whatever Janson said. He would electrocute me, make me go through these crazy mind tests in my own head, he would operate on me- without me even knowing. Towards the end of it though… it felt like he pitied me."

Newt snorted, and I heard Fry re-enter the room, picking something up from the floor.

"I'm serious. He helped me escape… He even did me, and—a friend I suppose, a favor." Killing your best friend wasn't really a favor in most people's eyes, but he knew that she was suffering. That she would continue to suffer. "By the time I got to the place you guys were at, he was administered to another patient. They wouldn't let him work on me anymore for some reason."

"Hmm." Newt's eyes fell to the floor.

"Hey guys," Frypan called over, "There's some warmer clothes over here." Frypan dug through a shopping cart filled with miscellaneous items, price tags still on them but barely readable from it being heavily aged.

"We'll be there in a sec, Fry." Newt answered, standing up from the chair. "Let's get you bandaged up."

"Yes boss," I hopped from the counter, and stood straight, arms up and ready for him to apply the dressing

He ripped a piece of the dry cloth and placed it on the abrasion and asked me to keep my fingers on it. He took the roll of gauze and started wrapping it around my body. He did 360's around me, his hands gliding over my stomach, my side (which tickled) my back, and then around again.

I watched him intently, as he stuck his tongue between his lip and concentrated on casing me so tightly.

When he was done, he tucked the end through the top of the dressing. He shrugged, when finished. "Not the most sanitary, but it'll do, I suppose." He turned around, picking up the launcher from the floor.

"You could've been a medjack," I remarked, picking up my tank top from the floor.

"What can I say," he started, shrugging again, "I'm a jack of all trades."

I swung the straps of my backpack around my shoulders, and pulled on them, tightening it around my arms. "Want me to hold the launcher?" I asked as we made our way to Fry.

He shook his head, blonde waves bouncing as he walked. "Naw. The others'll be mad."

Ouch, that stung a little.

He sighed when he saw my butt hurt face. "I know this'll suck for a while. I'm not saying I don't trust you, either, but last time I saw you a WICKED employee, who I didn't even know was one, revealed to me that you had been lying the whole time you knew us: forced or not. What if you're still being forced?"

That hurt even more.

I tried to not show the expression of damage that spoiled my face, but it was thorny.

"I think it's just better if we stay a little apprehensive. We're all still pretty… confused. We're all pretty messed up from tonight, too. We're all sorta lost. Again." I know he was speaking mostly for himself. It was his way of telling me he trusted me, but not wholeheartedly. How could I be mad at him for that, too? On one hand, I had no other choice and it was so frustrating knowing that no one was going to trust me, but on the other hand, if I was in their positions I would respond the same way.

I hated to say it, but sometimes I felt closer to Thomas. Maybe because Thomas had known me so well even before the maze. Thomas trusted me so whole-heartedly it almost hurt. Newt, on the other hand, was apprehensive. I didn't blame him though. It just spoke about his character. It told me that someone had betrayed him before. Someone had broken his trust. He had to be cautious now. He was so broken sometimes it pained me. I just wanted to fix him.

He placed a comforting hand on my back, and led me forward towards fry. Teresa joined us seconds later.

I saw the rest of them file in, through a separate entrance that consisted of a broken gate blocking the store front. We came through the back and met in the middle. Fry was rummaging through the clothes he had found, and Teresa was messing with a tiny flashlight she had found on the floor.

"Hey look at that," Minho shown his much brighter, much bigger flashlight across the room and we all glanced over. There were rows and rows of empty bottles, tubes sticking out of them, all connecting together. The plastic bottles were large, ones that could contain a few litres. It looked like some sort of water filtration system.

I sauntered over to it, waving Minho closer, and kneeled down to check if there was any liquid left.

I tapped one of the bottles, scanning over all the others as I did so. There was an empty 'thug' noise as I flicked it. "Dry as a bone." I publicized.

Minho sighed through his nose, spinning around.

It was difficult to see in the dim lighting, which made me wonder how Newt had even achieved to clean out my bloody injury. He was across the room from me , launcher slung over his left shoulder, while he limped around the room. His eyes were already on me, though, and I gave him a quaint smile.

There was a flicking noise, then a buzzing resonated in the room, and another light flicked on. I turned to Frypan who had found a dusty lantern in the mass of garments.

Newt blew on a dusty mound of bottles, causing sand to fly everywhere where he was, and he scanned a bunch of empty glass bottles for any trace of water.

My eyes flashed to Thomas' and we shared a look.

"Looks like people lived here," Minho observed.

Newt, popping up beside me out of nowhere with a flashlight of his own, scrunched his face into a look of confusion. "But where are they now..?"

I shivered. Didn't want to think about that.

Thomas grabbed a jacket from Fry's pile of clothes in the shopping cart, and shook it, beating his hand against it like a dirty rug. He moved the dark grey jacket over his shoulders and shrugged his arms into them. "Let's pack some of this stuff up; anything you might need."

"We should split up again," I glanced at Newt briefly, wanted to spend more time alone with him. "See what else we can find."

Newt nodded. "Good that."

I saw Minho roll his eyes.

"Wait," Teresa held up her free hand before anyone shuffled to move. "Did anyone check her bag yet? Check for any weapons or a speaker or something?"

I frowned at Teresa. Since I had rekindled with them, she had changed. She, more than anyone, seemed untrustworthy of me; and she had no reason more than anyone else to be foul towards me, even if I was disloyal. I understood the circumstances. It just surprised me that her of all people was so worried.

Minho held out his hand, "She's right, sorry girly, gotta check the bag just in case."

"She's fine guys, she would never do anything like—"

Minho held up a hand to interrupt Thomas, who was slightly stunned by the gesticulation.

I handed over my bag, grumbling to myself.

Minho kneeled to the floor and emptied the Bliss filled bag on the floor. There was the sound of metal and grass scraping against concrete and sand beneath us as the blue syringes, as well as the injection gun with needles came pouring out.

I hadn't realized how many I had grabbed, only six or seven, which would last me a couple of weeks at most.

Minho gave me a perplexed look, his black brows shooting up. "Should we be giving you an intervention about shooting up drugs, or something? Because…"

"If you want me to come with you guys I kinda need that." I interjected, crossing my arms."

"You really need that to live?" Teresa questioned, while Minho fished through other pockets for anything else.

I nodded. "If you want me to survive, yeah."

"W…What happens when you run out?" Thomas questioned dauntingly; his wide eyes filled with worry.

I gulped.

I felt Newt's eyes on me.

"It's… uh— It's called the Bliss," I ignored Thomas.

Newt twitched beside me. Clearly I had struck something in him. A name. Some part of what I had said was recognizable to him.

Minho zipped the backpack back up, standing erect and handing it back to me. "Right then, let's start loading supplies. Meet back here in half an hour."

Thomas and Minho tuned to move.

"Thomas," Newt called out, causing Thomas to pivot. Newt tossed a smaller flashlight his way, and Thomas barely caught it with both hands. He gave him a brisk nod, then exited the way they entered.

Teresa started to wander towards the back of the store, where Newt and I previously were, while Frypan moved towards the middle. Newt and I paced over to the mound of clothing.

We started shuffling through the stack, pulling oversized garments and scarves out. There were jackets with holes where little creatures had eaten through, and shoes that were barely classified as shoes with the sole peeling off of them.

Somehow, I managed to find a burgundy knitted sweater, that didn't have too many holes, and a beige coat. I fished out a dark grey scarf. My white sneakers and my black jeans would make do, but my jacket was much too thin to wear out in the Scorch. It would be below freezing at night, and I needed something that would keep me warm. I tossed my other one to the ground. While Newt picked out a white shirt, tan jacket, and a dark red scarf, I started to change.

I slipped on the sweater over my tank top, and pulled the jacket over my arms. The coat was sort of long, but it would do. I wrapped the grey scarf around my neck only once. I pulled the sleeves of the sweater over my hands, and tucked my arms into my sides, crossing them over one another.

There was a brief gasp from Teresa's direction, and the flashlight twitched across the room.

"You alright?" Newt asked, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"I'm fine," She rejoined after a dauntingly long pause.

I turned to Newt, who wore a peculiar expression, and I just shrugged.

I watched as Aris and Winston passed the front of the store we were in, heading right.

"We should look for food, water too." I told Newt.

He nodded, turning to Frypan, who had apparently already heard us.

"We'll be back," Newt told him, and we headed out the way Minho and Thomas went.

Instead of turning right, like where Winston and Aris were, we went left.

"I'm sure there's some sort of food store in here somewhere," I vocalized, "There has to be right."

"Mhm." Was all Newt said.

I wanted so badly to reach my palm over and hold his hand, but I resisted from doing so, knowing that things were… weird now.

"I wanted so badly for you to come back. I wanted to just see your face again, one more time, and not in my shuck dreams." It was like he was reading my mind… His voice had started me in the few seconds of silents we were previously in.

I paused our walk. We were only a few feet away from the front of the place where were Teresa and Frypan were.

He went to continue, but I grabbed his bicep to stop him. He avoided eye contact with me, his pupils glued to the floor.

"What are you trying to say, Newt?" I asked him, tightening my grip on his bicep. It was just an excuse to touch him, really. He seemed more toned then the last time I saw him.

He sighed, eyes still on the dusty ole' floor. "I guess I'm just trying to tell you that… I don't know. I need a little bit of time. I'm still just really confused and all."

I nodded, as much as it hurt me to realize that what he was saying was that we couldn't completely be like we were before. "I understand."

"You do?" he perked up.

I bobbed my head up and down.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "It's not that I don't trust you… and it's not that I don't care about you, love."

I shut my eyes at that name; memories of him holding me as I screamed in the hammock from the night terrors came flooding back. Recollections of him squeezing my quaking body, pushing my hair back as he breathed that nickname over and over, reassuring me that "It's okay," and that "You're safe. You're with me."

"I don't know how to express how I'm feeling right now…" he guiltily admitted.

My head started to hang low, and I tried to hide my disappointment.

"I do trust you… it's just that… I had just started to grieve. I started to come out of this depression, then you show up, glory and buggin' all, with a gun in hand and all your hair chopped off."

"I know," I sighed, once again.

"I know that you wouldn't exploit us or anything either… but I spent so long wondering why you did, and as much as I missed you I didn't understand why you lied. I was confused with what you said too, like when you tried to warn me back in the maze. I was so back and forth. I still am very back and forth. I just need a little bit to figure you out, Florence."

I pressed my tongue into the side of my cheek in annoyance. I just wanted to smother him. I needed him more than anything. Damn, did I miss Rhea. It hurt like hell, her death leaving a hole in my heart. I just wanted his comfort.

He wrapped both brawn arms around me, and pressed his tall body to mine. I made no effort to wrap my arms back, as much as I wanted to.

His lips grazed over my temple, and then I felt them quiver as they hesitated over my forehead, before finally pressing together against my skin.

Another reminiscent of us in the maze was etched into my mind. The day Minho saved my life. The asthma attack. The first time Newt has shown me any real affection; when he planted his soft lips to the center of my forehead while I struggle to breathe for oxygen.

I relished in that moment, for a long time. Knowing that I wouldn't get any real affection for a little while. He seemed to savoir it too. His arms remained wrapped around my small frame, and my head moved to the crook of his shoulder, pressing into it.

His body was warm, and he smelt clean. Fresh, like he had just taken a shower. I curled my arms beside my face, and closed up any fraction of a centimeter that was between us.

It felt like hours before we unconfined each other, but in realism it was only a minute or two. It was still quite a stretched embrace, one I was thankful for.

"Come on," I nodded my head towards a shop a few doors down from the one we were outside, "Let's find something to eat. I gave him a weak smile, one that was very forced, and I heard him trail after me.

* * *

We managed to gather quite a bit by the time we exited. We grabbed a bounty of food, in case the others hadn't found any. Seemed like someone was living in that place too. There were old photos scattered across tables, makeshift beds made out of the shelves between shopping isles, and dead lights strung around sections of the store, like little camping sites.

And we thought we had it bad in the maze…

We grabbed cans of food, like corn or carrots. We found a lot of baked beans, green beans as well. We found a lot of dry food like cereal and granola bars, or crackers, but there was nothing worth salvaging that was fresh. There wasn't even canned fruit. What I would've killed for a fresh apple right now..

We found only one large jug of water, but it was enough to divide between a few of us. We filled thermoses with the water, and other carrying cups that we found in the store, like crushed water bottles or mugs with lids.

On the way out, I had even scored a jar of peanut butter. "YES!" I hissed in victory, trotting after Newt a few feet ahead of me.

He chuckled at me, taking lead back towards the others.

"Do you really need that stuff to survive…?" At first I didn't know what he was talking about, but then I saw him point to my backpack.

I stared dumbfounded for a moment, not knowing what to say. So I did what I did best, and lied. All together, I shrugged, and then shook my head. I went to open my mouth, but something atypical stopped me.

Out of a sudden, a large buzzing noise resonated around us. It hurt my ears at first, to hear something so loud after hearing only hushed whispers from each other. The energetic buzz got louder and louder, and I thought something was going to explode, until the lights above us started to flicker on. There were a lot of busted light bulbs, but some of them worked. There were lamps in the middle of the walkway in the mall, and emergency lights near exit doors flickered on. A few bulbs burst, and others popped, glass falling to the floor, but there was some light in this place. I saw a cracked television flicker on and off, a snowy screen of black and white appearing a few stores down.

"What the hell…" Newt breathed.

"I really shucking hope one of the boys turned that on…" I shivered.

We shifted to a jog to catch up to the others. By the time we had made it back to the meeting place, Fry and Teresa came stumbling over the rubble to exit the store, Winston and Aris with them.

"What's going on?" Newt asked them, while I, on the other hand, was fixated on something else.

It was barely audible… but I had sworn I had heard a shriek. "Did you hear that?" I asked the others.

"Hear what?" asked Winston.

I closed my eyes, as if that would expand my other senses, like my ability to listen. There was another loud scream, and this time, I was sure the others must have heard it.

"That was Thomas," I said, my eyes flashing open.

Newt moved past the others, turning to the screeches that were louder now.

We all followed his lead, movements that were so apprehensive that they were barely classified as walking.

Two figures came sprinting around a corridor, yards away from us. I knew from the haughty way that they carried themselves, that one of them had to be Thomas, which meant the other was Minho.

"What the…" I started, being cut off by another scream.

 _"RUUUN!"_ Thomas bellowed, in full sprint towards us.

"Oh my god…" I muttered under my breath, turning to Newt who was already starting to shift to a sprint.

Behind our two friends, were two more figures. Then two more. Then another three. They all came limping around the corridor, stumbling like drunken men exiting a bar. There were loud screeches, and I nearly shivered when I saw the first one's gruesome looking face.

There was a mass of running cranks behind our two friends; and they were heading straight for us.

* * *

 **A.N: Okay.. real talk. What do you guys wanna see throughout this fanfiction? I hope the amount of fluff in this chapter was enough to pull you through. There will be lots of bonding between Newt and Flo. Question though, you know in the movie when Thomas gets separated with Brenda from the others. Would you like to see Florence with them? Or would you like to see her with the others? or would you like to see her and Newt get separated by themselves? Oh! Also, how would you feel about a mature chapter *wink wink nudge nudge* between the two? I've never written one. I'm sure that chapter wouldn't be for a long long time... or I could write a separate one shot if you guys would like me to. let me know your thoughts!**

 **Thanks for the reviews from knarl, AmyRoxx123, Guest 1, Guest 2, Suzzie, hartgurl729, fanaticomaticsupertokienlover, and bmdrwho12 (glad you got the teen wolf reference ;))**

Seriously thank you all for the supportive words. I'm glad I am back too! Wouldn't be if it wasn't for you guys.


	17. The Fallen One

**I do not own the Maze Runner Trilogy. Blame James Dashner for ruining your lives.**

* * *

"THOMAS, MINHO, WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE THINGS?" I had never heard Aris vocalize something to that decibel, before. He usually kept quiet, kept to himself. It was made apparent that he only raised his voice to that level when hundreds of bloodthirsty soulless corps happened to be on our asses, making macabre cries as they staggered after us, their bodies lurching with each wide stride they took.

"I DON'T KNOW. JUST KEEP GOING!" Thomas urged, as all eight of us made it to the top of a set of broken escalators. "MOVE MOVE!"

"They're cranks!" I screamed at them, feeling my calves scream painfully as I pushed my legs further and further. "Don't let them bite you!"

"Where do we go?!"

"Come on!" Teresa cheered, turning left and then another immediate forced left.

"Keep moving!" Thomas screamed.

The flashlights danced across the broken path in front of us, beaming here and there as we struggled to hold them still while making a break for it.

The mall was much larger from the second floor. It was open. There were three floors by the looks of it. We entered on the first floor, and the floors above it were just rings around the side of the building, encircling the middle. The cranks could climb, apparently.

They were much faster than I had expected them to be. They were dumb, stumbling into crates and boxes in their way, or pushing each other into the middle of the mall and falling through glass panels.

One of them croaked loudly, a bubbly, phlegmy, yell; which resonated off the walls, echoing in our ears and making us cower.

I tried not to look back, and stare at their gruesome faces; but it was hard not to. It was like watching a car crash. You wanted to look away—but you just couldn't no matter how hard you tried. The worst part was locking your eyes with those austere, desolate eyes; overflowing with infection. The first two that lead the gang of living dead were both men. I tried desperately not to imagine what they might've been like without all the scars, the blood, and the boils, but it was entirely too difficult for someone with such an intensifying heart. They probably had families… friends. They would have people that loved them, and now they were just…nothing. Were they the people that resided here before us? Or had they just wandered their way in here?

The noise of glass breaking shook me from my reverie.

"Oh shhhhhit." Thomas held the first part of the curse between his tongue and teeth as his feet skidded to a stop. I slammed into him, and then Newt behind me.

"Sorry," he murmured in my ear, which was really not the time to apologize for unnecessary thing; but I smiled anyways.

There was a crank revealing itself from a side path to the right of us, knocking over clothing racks as it blocked us in between the other monsters.

"Oh shuck," I cursed, nibbling on my knuckles. This was the time to take action. This was the time for Rhea's skills to come in handy. I don't know why I hesitated for even a second, but by the time I pushed Thomas out of the way to get to the crank charging towards us, Aris had already swung a piece of loose metal towards it, a sickening crunch as it connected with its knee caps. The crank flew towards us, like a baseball on a home run—causing our small group to divide in the middle, as it slid past us and hit a broken bench behind us.

I looked to Newt, who had wide eyes and looked confused and terrified in cooperation.

There was a divide as part of us went up the left escalator, and half of us went up to the right to the third. Thomas and Teresa were on their own, most of the cranks following them, while the rest of us were scrambling up the broken steps; scraps of metal jamming into our shoe as we booked it up the stairs.

There was a loud shriek from a crank behind me, that didn't look too far gone.

"Florence!" Newt yelled, pulling me by my sleeve up the escalator.

I clung to his left arm, as he tried to pull me up at a quicker pace, me being the last one up the narrow stairs and all.

I lost my footing on the last two steps, sending me hurdling to the floor.

Newt clung to my scarf, vaguely choking me as he tried to pull me up. "Florence no!" A few of the others hung back, coming to aid to my rescue, but I knew I could handle myself.

I breathed heavily, flipping onto my back as the women with thin clusters of hair, and moist scabs on her fast growled as she neared me.

She lunged for me when she was four steps away, and I lifted both legs. Her head connected with my feet, and I kangaroo-kicked her down the stairs, sending the other cranks toppling back to the second floor.

Before I even had a second to relish in my coup, two physique limbs shoveled underneath my armpits like a hook on a fish, and stood me erect.

I dusted myself off, giving Newt a refined nod to articulate my appreciation, and then reallocated back into a sprint.

"Teresa!" I heard from the opposite escalator.

I barely had time to even look back, now. We were running so hastily my vision started to blur, the track beneath me dissipating at my feet.

I felt Newt's hand on my back. He never surpassed me as he ran, always staying behind me since the escalator.

Eventually, Teresa and Thomas joined us. We reunited and took a sharp left to cross over the middle of the mall, a small bridge of sorts to traverse. We took a quick right, my sneakers skidding as I followed Minho ahead of me.

"Where the hell are we going?!" Minho's voice cracked as he dodged miscellaneous piles of rubble.

Thomas' shoulder bumped mine, and Newt let go of my back.

"We gotta find a way out of here!" Frypan howled.

"And what?" I screamed back at him, "Get caught by WICKED?"

No one responded, knowing that neither option was favorable. I sure as hell wasn't going back there. If I was dying, I was dying with my friends, not back in that hell hole.

It was arduous to perceive sound from the others over the vociferating undead sprawling after us.

"Go!" Thomas and Newt slowed behind me, but still briskly followed suit with the rest of us. They were by far 'the protectors' of our cluster, making sure the majority of us were unharmed. "Faster, faster!"

There was a loud crash behind me, glass sprinkling around my feet as small 'ting' noises resonated around us. "NEWT!" Thomas cried.

I didn't want to turn around, in fear of what I may see, in case he was a goner. I pivoted anyways, knowing that if there was any slim chance that I could save him, I would take it even if it required death. I would've done that for any of them. I was no longer the coward I was back in the maze. I was relentless and I would stop at nothing to save the people I loved. Besides, I didn't have that long to live anyway.

I almost breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him laying on his back, recoiling as a snapping crank bared his teeth. Obviously, not the appropriate time, but I would take that (a situation I could handle) over a dead Newt any day.

"Guys! Help!" It was the first time I had heard the accent in his voice evaporate. It was probably from yelling so damn stridently in desperation. He held his elbow to the crook of the crank's neck, struggling to keep it from biting his face. The crank let out a loud squeal, his jaw opening so wide it looked dislocated. I couldn't see what Newt could from my view, but whatever was in the crank's mouth had disgusted to the point of nearly gagging. His eyes were wide as saucers, horrified by the decomposed flesh-eating man on top of him.

I flew to his side, body checking the teeth-gnashing crank. His body was stiff, quite strong for someone who had no motor skills. Luckily, my fragile figure was enough to knock the crank off. Beside us was a glass panel, protecting us from falling. The crank bellowed loudly as it shattered through the glass. It clawed the air in an attempt to save itself, but flew over the edge.

Thomas moved to help me, hoisting Newt up to stand.

"Thanks…" he said in astonishment.

"Just returning the favor," I explained, yanking him by the arm to continue on.

"Newt, you good?" Thomas asked; one hand on his shoulder as we strode forward.

"Yeah, thanks Tommy." He responded out of breath.

"Come on, Newt!"

"Keep going!"

I had no idea who was even yelling at this point, all I knew was that my lungs shucking hurt. They felt sharp as I inhaled in each breath, and I could feel my trachea constricting. The stamina I built up Rhea was enough to keep me going through my asthma while at WICKED's headquarters, but the dry heat of the Scorch mixed in with running for your god damn life from a mob of flesh-loving cranks was not a good amalgamation.

Aris started trafficking people through a small hallway, which, in hindsight, seemed like an awful idea but we all took a jagged right and dashed through the corridor.

We all bumped into each other, considering the hallway was only spacious enough for one, maybe two, to go through at a time.

We all halted as Thomas tried a door along the side of the antechamber. The cranks had started piling in now, crushing each other as they stampeded over one another to get to us.

"Open the door!" I screeched.

"I'm trying!"

I groaned loudly, pushing Teresa who was the closest in front of me, Thomas before her. "Just keep going! Keep shucking going!"

"Thomas!" Teresa shoved him, and we all started to stir again.

"Come on they're coming!" Winston, the last one in the hall, started to panic.

We gained some speed as we made it to the end of the hall, but it didn't matter.

"It's a dead end…" Minho whisper-shouted to the rest of us.

There were three doors to the left of us as the hallway opened up wider, but they were all bolted shut.

"Get us out of here Thomas!" Teresa cried in horror, as a few cranks let out gurgling shrieks.

Once again, just like escaping WICKED the first and second time, we all looked to Thomas for hope. As per usual, he looked utterly lost. He always found a way to escape, though. If there was anyone I trusted to get us out of this state of affairs, it was him.

The doors had a push button in the middle of them, but only one seemed to budge in the middle. There was a deadbolt connected to the framework though. Thomas nudged it, testing it's stability. It creaked as the hinge started to pull, appearing loose.

"THIS ONE!" he announced, and he and Minho got to work straight away. They took turns body-checking the door, hoping it would break. They alternated between using their feet and shoulders.

"I'll hold them back!" Winton announced. Out of nowhere, he pulled out a black pistol from his pocket. I had no idea where he had retrieved it from, but assumed it was from one of the supply runs we had done before being overrun by cranks.

He shot one bullet. Then another, and another. Not one single crank went down.

I sighed. Now was better than ever, I suppose. They needed my help and I was confident in both me and Rhea that I was ready to at least hold off an army of cranks until my friends were safe. The second I took a step forward, Newt grabbed my shoulder. I shoved him off, jogging up to Winston. I pushed him aside, snatching the pistol from his hand and checking him with my hip to move away.

I held it just like Rhea had taught me, and just like I had practiced at the safe haven. I kept the index finger of my dominant hand on the frame of the gun as I held it up. I wrapped my last three fingers around the base of the grip, tightening my sweaty pads around it. With my left hand, I placed the heel on the exposed portion of the grip, lining myself up to keep me steady. I closed when eye, aimed, and then fired.

The first crank fell down in an instant.

Another bullet went off, and the next crank went down.

"Oh my God," I heard Newt mutter.

"Yes!" Minho cheered, between thrusts against the door. I couldn't see their faces, but I didn't have to to know that they wore astonished expressions, possibly even joyful ones at my success with a handgun.

On a victorious high, I moved forward, shooting again. I was astonished at my own skill, not previously thinking I was actually this superior at shooting a gun. I had only done it at bags of sand and posters before.

"Florence!" Newt warned.

I could hear the boys slamming their shoulders into the door repeatedly. They would leave heavy bruises for the following days, but that wasn't something that should've been worried about right now.

Not wanting to waste too many bullets, and having enough room between the gaining crank and the one behind it, I put the gun away. I opted on using my fists to hold them back until I heard the victorious 'yes!' when it was opened.

I held my core tight, planted my feet on the ground as the crank in front of me swayed en route for myself. I leveled my arms with my shoulders, tucked my chin in, and then threw out a jab. It wasn't enough to kill him, but it was enough to knock the poor guy out. I slammed the heel of my sneaker in his head, cringing at the repulsive squish, and crunch it made.

Blood splattered across my pants, but I had no time to recoil, as the next one lunged for me. I punched her in the jaw, and then kicked her in the stomach, pushing her back a few feet. She faltered back a few feet, two other cranks going with her.

"Hurry!" I yelled through gritted teeth. I caught my eye on a loose brick in the hallway a few feet ahead of me. I knew Newt wouldn't like it, but I dove for it anyways. I needed something more stable, more solid to knock these shanks out.

"Get the door open!" Winston added, anger straining his voice.

I heard Newt grunt in frustration, and Winston protested, but I did so anyways. I picked it up, immediately after standing erect I used it to crash a crank's head into the wall.

I closed my mouth, and my eyes as blood and pus covered my face. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to make me gag. And the smell, oh god, the smell. It was so rancid it made my nostrils burn, and my insides churn.

I did feel guilt for killing them, but the overpowering quest to save my friends subdued it.

"Come on Frypan! Let's go!" There was a few seconds of no talking, and then I heard a large slam against the door, and a loud squeal from the hinges. "It's open!"

"Come on come on come on!"

"Florence, come on!" Newt advocated, waiting for me. I whipped my head around to take a quick peak. Thomas' head popped out of the door, the others already filed through, and Newt and Winston where waving their hands around like windmills, waiting for me to join them.

"Come on!"

I groaned, picking up the one I had against the wall by his suit collar, and shoving him towards a young female crank and an older female.

Newt made sure I was ahead of him. As if there was some invisible barrier to cross, the second I stepped through the ajar door, Newt limped after me.

"GAHHHH!" There was a loud smack as a body hit the floor, and when I whipped around to see Winston face down against the cement, a crank yanking him by the ankles, I panicked.

"Winston!" I screamed; my voice shaky from the worry.

Newt dove for him, trying to catch his hands.

Luckily, his hands grasped the red door we had just walked through, but only a small portion of his body was through the door.

He clung onto the side of it for dear life, and the others moved to grab hold of him and endure in a game of tug-of-war between the undead.

"Help me!" He cried, obvious tears in his eyes.

Maybe we should've stayed with WICKED.

I watched as they battled out, not wanting to get in the way.

"Help! Please!" Minho and I moved around to the side of the door, bearing our weight against it to try to shut the door.

Hands swatted the air, clawing it to try to reach the rest of us.

"Please! Oh my God!" I closed my eyes, feeling the crushing guilt of not being able to save him right now, for watching him undergo such an intolerable, sinister experience.

I moved from the door, letting Minho handle it, as more of his body started to pull through our side.

Winston screamed loudly as the cranks dug their blood-caked fingernails in Winston's abdomen. I wrapped my arms around the top of his chest, trying to pull.

Eventually, we managed to save the poor bugger and pull him through, but not without a few souvenirs, like the blood that wasn't his, as well as the pus from the popped boils, and the claw marks. His pants were shredded by the ankles.

"GO GO GO!" Thomas hollered, as both Aris and I rushed to pick the boy up. "GET UP WINSTON!" We stood him on his feet, one arm under his, and staggered away from the screaming cranks.

Thomas and Minho grunted as they held their backs to the door. The lock made clanging noises as it smashed repeatedly against the frame, while the cranks tried their best to even stretch a limb through the door.

"Minho go! I'm right behind you," I wasn't so confident in Thomas' words but I had no time to look back and check. The three of us needed to get a head start with Winston being in such an ill state.

He gave it a few seconds, but then I heard him holler like he was ready for some great escape. His voice had hope like he actually believed we were going to make it, which was much different than the time he had abandoned Thomas and I in the maze. He was a changed man. "Let's go let's go!" he said it like it was one word.

Seconds afterward I heard the cranks scream in anticipation, their gruesome gurgles and their croaking cheers. The door was open, and all we could do was run.

I saw Thomas' flashlight beam up and down, up and down. It was from him hurtling his body forward, scampering away from the advancing mob of death.

I started to heave breaths, which sounded more like sobs. I saw Aris peer over at me, to make sure I wasn't blubbering over the situation. There were tears in my eyes, but mostly because I was worried.

I could hear them broadcasting their victory as they got closer and closer, and we started to lose space between us and them as Winston slowed down, completely bearing his weight on us.

"Go go go!" Newt screamed from behind us.

I let out whimpers as the three of us pushed further, practically carrying Winston's limp body.

We were in some abandoned parking lot. It was much darker here, without the aid of electricity out here to help us, and much colder considering half of the garage had caved in.

The good news was there were plenty of places for us to hide, the bad news was, one: we couldn't climb, and two: we wouldn't have enough time to hide.

"We gotta get Winston somewhere safe. If we don't they're gonna catch up," I vocalized truthfully, hoping the rest of our squad of WICKED candidates would start throwing suggestions. "We can't run all night, not without weapons anyways."

"I have an idea…" Newt vouched.

He ran ahead of the three of us, running backwards as he vocalized his devised plan.

"You three—Winston, Aris, Florence. We'll find a place for you to hide. We'll conceal you so those… Freaks!—so they can't get you. A-And then the rest of us distract the group. We'll leave you with the launcher in case."

"No!" Teresa griped, "No don't leave her with the launcher… We can't trust her!"

"Are you serious?!" I leaned my head over Winston's shoulder, eyebrows raised. "We'll die without protection.

"Really? Because back there it looked like you could fend for yourself, Flo." She said it in a condescending way, like she was suspicious of me hiding something.

Newt groaned, running forward while he threw his head over his shoulder to talk to us. "Just—bloody find somewhere to hide. We'll find a way to loop around and meet you back there."

"And if the cranks come for us?" I asked.

Thomas jogged up to me, "Take this," He offered quietly—handing me a crowbar from god knows where.

"Thanks, Tom."I nodded to him, smiling.

"Are you sure about this?" I hollered at the others.

I could see Newt's face break, as he contemplated about what to do. He knew coming with Aris and I would attract the cranks. There would be too many of us, but I know he also trusted me more than most of the people here to take care of Winston, so he didn't want t swap me out for someone else. Besides, there wasn't enough time.

"I'm sure," He said, in his endearing British accent of his. I knew it broke him to say that. For once, he was making the decision for us to split, for us to divide one again.

Aris and I pushed our shouting leg muscles even further, clenching our jaw and gritting our teeth. I took a hold of the crow bar, and we darted to the right. "You guys go left! We'll find somewhere to hide." I told them, readjusting my hold on a whining Minho.

"We'll find a way back," Newt's eyes locked with mine, "I promise."

His voice echoed against the cement walls of the carp park. We staggered over cement rubble, and dodged abandoned cars swathed in dust.

Despite the conversation we had earlier, I know Newt still cared for me. I know the short love we shared wasn't just 'nothing' to him. I knew that maybe we were separated right now, maybe he wasn't ready to be together but somehow, someway we would come crawling back to each other, even if it took WICKED holding us back while surrounded by a bunch of cranks, we would.

He might've been confused, he might've not felt the same desire I felt for him at this very moment, but I knew the moment my lips met his in WICKED's damn utility garage, that there was something there. It felt like home. He felt like home.

It was similar to cup of warm cocoa on a winter's day, or dipping your feet into cold water in the scorching hot sun. It was like receiving your first puppy as a child. It was like holding a newborn baby, or the sensation of being cozy on a rainy Sunday. Waking up Christmas morning. It was like satisfaction after finishing a brilliant book, or tears after hearing a song so moving—that you felt the passion in your soul.

He was home to me. Along with Thomas, Minho, Frypan, hell, even Teresa who was so inevitably against me right now.

It tore my freakin' heart out knowing that I couldn't hold his lean figure, that I couldn't nuzzle my head into his chest, or listen to his heartbeat while I fell asleep on his chest without wondering if he actually wanted me to do so.

I wasn't completely confident that somehow, the four of them would outrun the cranks and loop back around to join us. We would make it through the night. We would.

I nodded to him, saying only two words that I knew were the only ones he needed to hear to allow himself to go.

"I know."

* * *

 **I apologize sincerely for the short chapter... I know that the recent ones have been shorter. I'll try to make them longer next time. Thank you sincerely to everyone reviewing. I hope you enjoy this chap, let me know what you think!**

 **This part in the movie was quite weird, but I thought it'd be a good way to provide improv. Also i thought it would be a good chance for Aris and Florence to rekindle. In the movie they just end up running and running, then the screen fades and they're safe under some sort of concrete canopy. It doesn't explain how they got to safety or how the cranks didn't notice them, so I thought I'd change this part up a bit. They're only going to be apart for like a quarter of a chapter, but I might make it slightly different then the movie for this scene, just because I don't want the whole fanficiton to be Florence following them around and occasionally adding in her speaking.**

 **Thanks for the review from moonygilbert, guest 1, herherondaletotherescue, and hatgurl729. LEt me know your thoughts on these! Also if you didn't see my last authors note please please read it. I need opinions because I don't want to disappoint my readers! I think I will have Florence join Newt and the others when they get split from Brenda and Tom but I'm still curious on a mature chapter, or just elude to something mature and have a one shot separate for it. Let me know :)**

 **ALSO: knarl made me the most fantastic trailer to this. If you haven't yet watched it, go to the profile kelsey p on youtube. It is absolutely amazing and I will link it to my profile tomorrow, so look out for it! Its absolutely amazing. Please check it out. Please pleas please.**


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